


The Fallen

by fairiel



Category: The Avengers (2012), Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Jotun Loki, Multi, Post Avengers Asgard, Romance, Smut, Vanaheim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-11-27 02:41:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/657167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairiel/pseuds/fairiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki is banished on Vanaheim, stripped of his powers, forced to live there in his Jotun form. Although he doesn’t want any company, he will meet some helpful Vanir and maybe his fate will change for the better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_When the shadows remain in the light of day_  
 _On the wings of darkness he'll retaliate_  
 _He'll be falling from grace_  
 _Till the end of all his days_  
  
 _From the ashes of hate_  
 _It's a cruel demon's fate_  
 _On the wings of darkness_  
 _He's returned to stay_  
 _There will be no escape_  
 _Cause he's fallen far from grace_  
  
Within Temptation - _A Demon’s Fate_  
  
 **Chapter 1**  
  
     _Vanaheim!_ Loki thinks as his body twirls and twists endlessly inside the vortex between the two worlds. The powerful voice of the Allfather still resonates in his head. _You are banished from this Realm until I deem you fit to return_. Punctuating his words with a loud clang of Gungnir on the floor of the Golden Hall, he had boomed _No more powers! No more magic! Only when I see fit shall you regain them. You have still much to learn. Honesty. Compassion. Love. Think well on what you have done. Use your time wisely. And maybe, maybe, you will reach true understanding._ And with another bang of Gungnir, the Allfather had summoned the vortex and he had seen his body turn blue before being sucked into its whirling tide, his face contorted with disbelief and disgust at his appearance, screaming _No!_  
    

    He hits the ground violently and instantly feels the rays of the Vanaheim brilliant sun burning and biting his cold blue flesh. Of all the places Odin could have chosen to banish him, this is probably the worst. Not only the sun always shines bright even in the deepest of winter, but the Vanir are only known for their agricultural and fishing skills, Loki thinks with contempt. Not a race of warriors, only very shy of strangers. They still feel a deep resentment for Asgard, even after all those years, for keeping the best of them as hostages after the war, Freyr and Freya, the two children of Njord, their king. He will be very lonely here, in this bright alien place. And clearly, his Jotun body is not reacting well to the heat of the Vanaheim sun.

  
    He raises his head, pushing his hair away from his eyes, and all he envisions is water,  bright blue water glistening in the sun, the very glowing sun that is burning his skin. The big, vast ocean of Vanaheim stretches as far as the eye can see. _Great!_ He thinks. Not only does he hate that form of his, but it’s going to be very difficult to stay unscathed under that climate. His Jotun body, so well-suited to the winters and freezing cold of his home planet, is already suffering from the heat, and before long will turn purple and blister if he doesn’t find shelter soon. He turns and can only see rippling hills and green meadows. There is nowhere to hide from the sun, not even a single tree. Its dazzling reflection on the white sandy beach causes him to blink, making him dizzy, when he hears a loud and raucous shriek tearing the silence. Above him, a sea eagle is gliding in the sky, in long circles. The bird shrieks again before suddenly plunging towards the ocean. Just before it reaches the surface, it flaps its wings powerfully and veers, skimming past the water and threateningly close to his head. He can feel the still air moving as the large wings of the bird brush past him, tousling his long black hair. Majestic, is the first word that comes to  his mind, looking at the great bird, with its white head and belly and grey wings, swirling in the air above him. The eagle gives another low shriek then flies away westward until it is merely just a dark spot against the white horizon.

  
    Before long, it is back, whirling in the air. The bird shrieks again, calling for him, descending on him, then it flies away in the same direction as before, as if it wanted to show him something. Squinting and shading his red eyes with his long hand, Loki finally sees a black shape standing out in the horizon. Trees, a forest, and shelter! He runs for it, his long black hair flying in the wind and as soon as he enters its comforting shadows, his body is soothed and refreshed, cooling down under the thick layer of leaves protecting him from the sun. The trees here are taller than any other he has ever seen and their leaves are golden, but it provides nice shelter. He catches his breath when another loud shriek rips the silence, startling him.

  
    The bird, the white-bellied sea eagle, is there, perched on a low branch, and it’s looking at him, its head cocked to the side. It’s as if it wants to talk. Its eyes are surprisingly bright and clear. Unnatural. Eagles’ eyes are supposed to be black, but this one’s are not. They’re pale, almost green, almost human. And it seems that the bird is waiting. For what, he knows not. But the eagle ruffles its feathers, cocking its head on the other side, and waiting. He gives it a small nod. After all, the bird took him to the trees. Coincidence or not, it deserves a thanks. As soon as he acknowledges that simple truth, the eagle soars into the air above the trees canopy and rapidly flies away, disappearing from his sight.

    Loki stands puzzled under the nice shade of the trees. What a strange bird. But now that he has found a shelter, he has to do his best to survive and stay away from the Vanir as much as he can. He thinks on Odin’s last words. True understanding. Honesty. Compassion. Love. He laughs with bitterness for it is all that was never given to him. How can the Allfather, his father, expect him to find them in his heart when he was deprived of them for so long. Odin never understood him, lied to him, let him rot in a living hell, only to send his brother after him to punish him, sending him here to find what? Truth, enlightenment? What a joke. All he feels is resentment, loathing, and hatred. Yes, even hatred. For Odin. For Thor. Most of all, for himself, for that form which he so despises. He wants to scream his rage aloud, his frustration and helplessness. He wants to close his eyes and forget about everything, the pain, the suffering, the contempt in his brother’s eyes, the hurt in his mother’s face. He lies down on the cool grass and curls into a ball, his head in his hands. Make it stop, he silently begs. “I can’t take it anymore” his mind screams. He wants it to end, the suffering that is crushing his chest, smothering his heart, choking him. He closes his eyes and rocks himself to sleep, hoping it will bring him the relief that he so needs, that he so craves for.

    His dreams are populated with strange images, strange lights, multicoloured lights. He spins down and down in an endless fall, spiralling, sucked in, unable to resist the circular movement that is irresistibly pulling him down. He tosses and turns on the grass as Thor’s face appears, eyes full of concern, only to give way to the accusatory face of his father before falling again into the abyss. So much pain, limitless pain. He whines and whimpers in his sleep as agony shoots through his body. There is an ache in his limbs, pounding in his head, and discomfort his spine. There is throbbing throughout his core, excruciating pain. He cries out, a never-ending primal scream from inside his lungs. His body tightens. His fists clench in his sleep. And in his dream, no, in his nightmare, amidst all of the hurt and suffering, he suddenly hears a voice. A clear voice, the voice of a woman.  His mother’s voice maybe? He calls after her _Mother!_ But it’s not Frigga’s voice. It’s much too light and higher-pitched. The voice is soothing, lulling, and beautiful. Slowly, the pain subsides and he can feel a featherweight touch, as if the wind was blowing very gently. It eases the pain, and he relaxes. His breath comes back to normal and he slumbers back into deep, very deep sleep. A deep dreamless sleep.

    When he awakes, all is dark in the woods, but for a fire that has been lit next to him. His eyes slowly adjust to the flickering red glow, and he suddenly jumps to his feet. People! Vanir! They cannot, they must not see him. Not in his Jotun form! He wipes his sweaty hair away from his face, searching for the Vanir who has lit the fire, but there was no sense in denying the obvious: whoever started the fire was long gone. He remembers his nightmare and the voice. What’s more, he remembers the light touch. Maybe it hadn’t been a dream after all. But who? Who would be willing to help him? 

    He steps into the light and that’s when he notices it, a bundle. Neatly tied and set upon a stone next to the fire. He opens it and inside finds a folded light grey shirt and a dark grey hooded cloak to protect him from the sun. Very thoughtful. Whoever gave him those clothes must have witnessed the effect of the Vanir sun on his bare skin. There’s also a tinderbox and flint, a flask full of water, and a wooden box engraved with mysterious symbols. Inside the box are purple berries unknown to him and a large piece of whole bread. Very thoughtful indeed. Hesitant, he tastes a berry and finds it to be deliciously sweet and sour at the same time. He takes a big bite of bread and drinks some water to help swallow it down. Whoever it was that left him those gifts was very observant, and delicate. It intrigues him more than he cares to admit.  
  
* - *  
  
    A few miles away, at the border of the Barri Woods, a hooded figure is coming home to  a Vanir cottage in the night. The door opens and a tall woman with chestnut-brown hair bursts outside, running through the apple-trees in the orchard. The trees are in full bloom and the white petals fly in the air as the woman rushes towards the figure.

    “Esja.  Sister, where have you been so late in the night? I was worried like Hell!”

    She clings to the figure and the hood falls off, revealing a pale woman’s face crowned with golden hair tightly fastened in a bun low on her nape. She blushes deeply at the worry expressed by her sister.

    “Oh, Eilif, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to stay up all night and wait for me.”  They come inside and Esja gets rid of her dark hood, hanging it on the back of a chair. The hall is nice and quiet, a fire creaking in the corner, and she warms her hands as the other woman looks down at her mud-caked shoes.

    “You’ve been in the woods, haven’t you?”

    Esja sits down and takes off her shoes before replying, “You wouldn’t believe what happened today!”

    Eilif waits for her sister to recount her tale, expectant, for she has surprised in Esja’s pale green eyes a glint that she’s not used to. Generally, her sister is calm and quiet and she does nothing out of the ordinary, working in the fields, taking care of the orchard, seeing to the horses and cows whenever necessary. She is a pure farm girl. Except for her shape-shifting, she has never done anything strange or suspicious. And even that she hasn’t done for years. Shifting into a bird had always set her apart and she had strived to get a control over it for the slightest emotion could trigger the transformation. So far, she had managed to keep it at bay and no one had seen the sea eagle recently. But tonight, her eyes are wild and a strange smile graces her bird-like face, making her slim nose crinkle.

    “I met someone by the beach” she finally says, very slowly, very low, as if it were a secret the other woman is not supposed to tell.

    “You went by the beach? So far on your own?” asks Eilif. “I see. You shifted again. But I thought you had promised you wouldn’t do it anymore.”

    “You know how it is, sister. Sometimes, I can’t help it. An emotion, and here it is. I transform. Just like that.”

    “What triggered it, this time?”

    It hasn’t happened for a very long time and Eilif is curious as to the reason that led her sister to shift.

    “Not worth talking about. It’s not what’s important.” Esja evades the subject. “Anyway, I was flying high above the Ocean when I saw that big light followed by a big blast. I’m sure you must have seen it. Even from here. It was so impressive!”

    Eilif nods knowingly. She knows what her sister speaks of. They have all seen it and they know what it means, even though it’s been more than a millennium that Odin has not meddled in the affairs of Vanaheim. 

    “When the vortex disappeared, a man was standing there” Esja goes on. “A Jotun I think he was. All blue with red eyes and those markings they get at birth. And he had horns, glorious horns on his head. Only, he was strange. He was small and with long dark hair. And he wasn’t dressed as a Jotun.”

    Excitement is visible all over Esja’s face. Her eyes shine and her cheeks are flushed. Her hands, instead of resting gently on her lap, are flying as she speaks, punctuating each sentence. 

    “He had leather trousers and no shirt. I wonder... Why would Odin send a Jotun to us? Knowing how the sun would hurt him. And it did... Oh, sister, it did! I had to show him the way to the Barri Woods or he would have died of sunstroke! So cruel...”

    Eilif can sense the distress in her sister’s face, in the tone of her voice. This Jotun Esja speaks of must have been a prisoner of some sort or why send him here, summoning the vortex. Odin never does anything without a reason. She knows, even if the Vanir haven’t had any dealings with the Aesir for a millennium. The lord Freyr comes back from Asgard each year and he has told them all about Odin. He always has a new tale on the Aesir, so mysterious, so different. So, what could have been Odin’s purpose in sending this Jotun to them? 

    “Did he tell you his name, sister?”

    Surprise creeps in Esja’s face.  “No! I didn’t reveal myself. He went to sleep while I was off to fetch him clothes, water and something to eat. He had a strange nightmare.  I think he wants to be alone. He looks like he has suffered a lot. Oh, Eilif! He’s so beautiful, and graceful. I wish you could have seen him. I have never seen anyone like him before. We need to help him!”

    “But I thought you said he wanted to be alone. Besides, you don’t know what he has done for Odin Allfather to send him here. You know how Asgard was at war with Jotunheim.”

    “But I tell you, he’s not all Jotun!” Esja pleads with such a passion that Eilif didn’t know existed in her sister. “And the wars of Asgard are none of our concern. Isn’t it tradition for us to help whomever needs it?”

    Yes, her sister is right, Eilif thinks. The Vanir have never concerned themselves with the problems of Asgard and have a long tradition of hospitality. So be it. Esja will do whatever she wants in the end. That’s what she has always done, so better leave her to care for the mysterious stranger.

    “Well, tomorrow is another day. We’d better go to bed and we’ll see this in another light in the morning.”

    But she knows that Esja’s mind is set. There’s no harm in helping a stranger, whoever he is, but she has a strange feeling about it all. A good night of sleep and it will all be clearer.


	2. Chapter 2

    The sun rises on the shores of the great Ocean, making the white sand rosy with its pink light. Loki is standing at the edge of the Barri Woods, dressed in the new clothes bestowed so generously by the stranger in the night. The hooded cloak flies in the rising wind as he wonders about his survival. He cannot depend on this unknown benefactor forever. He knows he has to learn how to find food and water on his own. If there’s an Ocean, there must be a river flowing into it somewhere, so he has decided to follow the shores until he finds it. But first, he has to find a weapon of some sort, or make one, or else he will starve. Covering is head with the hood, he starts walking along the shore, marvelling at the beauty of the Vanaheim Ocean. It seems to go on forever, the sandy beach straight, although he knows that the continent is merely an island. A good thing that the Vanir are not numerous, for they will be easier to avoid. And it won’t be hard for him. The last thing he wants now is company. Friends… He never had any friends. The only companion he ever had was his brother, Thor. But Thor’s friends were never his friends. They always made fun of him, his slight build, his love for magic and books, his instinct of secrecy. They never understood him, always seeking to use him, use his skills, but never recognising how much they needed him. Sometimes, he thought that they had tolerated him only because he was Thor’s brother. How happy they must be now that he’s gone. Haughty Sif. Shallow Fandral. Hungry Vollstagg. Surly Hoggun. He doesn’t miss them. No. He misses Thor, though. He was in his dream, that night. Again. Just like every other night. As hard as it is to admit, betraying Thor was maybe the biggest mistake in his life. But it couldn’t be helped. And he’s paying for it right now. 

    He looks afar in the distance. But where is that river? The landscape is slowly changing. More hills and less meadows. And the beach is no more than a thin stretch of white sand. The sun is now high in the sky and he feels very glad for the hooded cloak, because the garment is protective but light at the same time, preventing the sun from burning his fragile blue skin but not keeping him too hot. A true blessing. The air is still, unmoving, even fuzzy. Too much sun… He walks on, but his flask of water is almost empty and he needs to find water soon. Very soon.

    He reaches the top of a high hill. From there, he will have a better view. He can’t risk to get too far from the woods, because of the shelter the trees provide and because he doesn’t want his presence to be revealed. If he goes on too long, he will need to spend the night in the open and anyone could chance upon him, then. Too risky. He frowns as he envisions endless hills. Where is the river? There must be a river, a source where the Vanir get their water from. He howls in frustration, falling to this knees, fists clenched. It’s hopeless…  
  
* - *  
  
    In the Vanir cottage, everyone is still sleeping. Everyone? No, not everyone. A great raptor soars in the air, white and grey, and rapidly flies over the Barri Woods until it reaches the camp where Loki passed the night. As it touches the ground, the eagle shifts and Esja shakes herself gracefully into her woman’s form. The camp is deserted. The fire dead. She looks everywhere, but can’t find any sign of the beautiful stranger that made such an impression on her the day before. The only thing that recalls his presence is the wooden box in which she had put the bread and the berries. Empty. At least, he has eaten, she thinks with relief. And he has taken the clothes and the water. But where has he gone? She doesn’t have the time to stay or to look for him, she has to go back to the farm for it is spring and the fields need sowing. She will check anyway, if only to ease her worry. His footprints are light but she can follow them for a while. She’ll decide what to do when she finds him.

    She shifts again as she reaches the beach for she thinks she knows what he’s looking for. With a few powerful flaps of her grey wings, she is already high in the sky, so high that she can spot anything for miles. And there he is, on top of a hill, only a dark speck amidst all the green of Vanaheim. She flies towards him and when she’s just above, notices he’s on his knees, screaming. She circles over him, giving a loud shriek to catch his attention, and he raises his head. He holds the flask of water she left for him in the night, but she can see it’s already empty. Water. He needs water. And she knows where exactly to find it. Not too far, but hidden from view, curves a river. Not Vanaheim’s biggest, but highly sufficient to supply the farms and the fields. From where he stands, he cannot see it, but she can take him to it. Rapidly, she veers to show him the way, checking back to see if he follows, and he does. He runs after her downhill, so fast that he catches up on her. He’s so tall and lean, no wonder he runs fast. But she has never seen anyone that fast. Before long, they have reached the little valley where the river flows into the Ocean and she calls to him as he fills his flask with the clear water. He waves at her and she flies away regretfully, wanting to stay here with him but knowing her sister will worry if she finds out she has gone again.  
  


    Loki has never seen such clear water before. It is so transparent that he can see everything under the surface as acutely as if there was no water. Clear like crystal. No river equals this one in Asgard, he thinks as he fills his flask before waving at the eagle that led him to his salvation. Is it possible? But he is absolutely positive he has recognised the bird, the same bird as before. Intriguing… He doesn’t give it much thought, though, as the bird disappears in the horizon. In the water, he has spotted fish, and his stomach churns hungrily. He knows how to catch them. Back when he and Thor were children, he would always beat his brother at this game. He was always quieter and quicker, and no fish would escape his grasp, which infuriated Thor to the highest point because he wanted to be first in everything. But here was a skill that he mastered better than his so perfect brother and he had taken immense pride in it, showing their mother his catch to receive praise. For once, he was not the second son. For once, they all acknowledged his superiority. Not that it lasted for long. Thor would always boast of a fight he had won and the praise would soon go to him. Whatever he did, Thor was always better. No… That wasn't true. He wasn’t better. He was better loved, Loki reflects sourly. He was always the favoured one. And he, Loki, no matter what he did, could never measure up to his brother. 

    He takes off his boots and rolls his leather trousers up his thighs, then he does the same with his sleeves, exposing his blue skin to the bite of the sun. It cannot be helped, he knows. Hopefully, it won’t be for long. He steps into the clear water, picking up the hem of his cloak and tying it around his waist. Just below a rock, he has seen it, a fish, hiding. He makes his way, as silent as a cat just before prowling on its prey, and waits patiently for the perfect moment to catch it. Stalking was always his talent. No one could ever best him, even though they all despised him for it. They said it was not manly, not the behaviour a true warrior should display on the battlefield. But it had always served him well, and it would again today. Just as the fish sticks its head out of the rock, he sweeps down on it, hooking it deftly between its gills. The fish tries to wriggle free but Loki’s grasp is too strong and sure, and he takes it out of the water, dripping and glistening in the bright sunshine. He quickly tosses it on the river bank, killing it instantly. 

    He shakes the water off his limbs, cat-like, and rolls down his sleeves and trousers. He puts his boots back on, unties his cloak and searches the whereabouts for something he could use as a rope to transport the fish back to his camp. He settles his choice on the high grass. It looks so long and thick, it will be easy to weave into some kind of thread. The task is easy for him. He was always nimble-handed and crafty. A small smile curves the corners of his lips as he admires his handiwork and he slides the grass cord inside the fish’s gills, fastening it to the belt of his trousers. It’s now time to return to the camp.  
  
* - *  
  
    Back to the Vanir cottage, Esja is late and she runs throughout the orchard to get to the fields, her long russet dress flying after her. Eilif and her husband Afrik are already there, while the children are unattended, playing tag amidst the high grass surrounding the field. As she arrives, breathless, her sister casts a disapproving glance at her, stopping right in the middle of a furrow to call:

    "Esja! Have you been to the woods again? You know you shouldn’t have. We can’t work in the fields and take care of the children at the same time, you know that."

    She looks down, her cheeks flushing at being scolded so. She knows it, of course. But she couldn’t help herself. She bites her lips before replying:

    "I’m here, now. I’ll take the children inside, if you want."

    "You’d better do something useful instead of running after an ellusive stranger…" her sister’s husband Afrik puts in.

    He’s a tall impressive man with brownish hair and tawny muscular arms sticking out of his forest green shirt. Not the type of man you want to anger, and it seems she has managed to do just that. She quickly grabs each children by the hand and starts walking back to the house, shoulders down with guilt. The girl, Sveina, a bright happy-faced child with long dark locks, tugs at her hand with excitement.

    "Tante! Tell us about the stranger. We want to know everything about him!"

    Her twin, Asvald, equally bright and dark-haired, although slightly more guarded, speaks up:

    "Oh yes, Tante. Tell us about him. Is it true he’s a Jotun? And that he comes from Asgard?"

    She stops and bends to take them both in her arms, their soft contact warming her up. She kisses each of them on the cheek before entering the house and telling them with an air of mystery:

    "It is a long tale… Are you sure you want me to recount it?"

    "Yes, Tante!" they both cry out eagerly.

    As she begins her story, the children sit down at the table, very quiet, very intent, absorbing her words like sponges. When she has finished, they both look very serious, and Sveina raises her eyes to meet her aunt's.

    "Why don't you invite him in? He could come and live with us. He has nowhere else to go."

    Esja takes a deep breath. She has been dying to talk to him, reveal herself to him, but somehow she has a feeling now is not the right time.

    "You see, dear child, I think he is very shy and he still needs some time to adjust. One day, I hope, he'll come to us."

    She hopes, that is true, because the strange Jotun has entered her life and he is all she can think about now. She gets up to get lunch ready and while she cooks, she daydreams of him, his deep blue skin, his foreign markings all over his face, his arms and naked chest twining in extraordinary shapes, his red eyes, his curved horns, his oh so long and silky soft hair. Most of all, she can't get out of her head his expression of deep suffering during his sleep. She doesn't want to know what he has done to be so banished. Whatever his crime, his nightmares are payment enough. No one should be allowed to suffer like this. She will do everything in her power to help him. And if that means antagonising her sister and her husband, then so be it. They have not seen him. If they had, they would surely feel the same way. The children certainly do.  
  


    The day passes without anything out of the ordinary happening and as dusk falls on the cottage, its glow reddening the white apple blossoms in the orchard, she takes her hood and gets ready to pay the stranger another visit, just to check if everything is alright with him. She has hidden a knife in her pocket for it might be useful to him. She dares not take anything else from her sister's house. 

    "I'm still not very happy with you going out like that" her sister interjects.

    "What could happen to me?" Nothing ever happens on Vanaheim. It is the quieter planet of the Nine Realms, it's true. But she knows that it's not what Eilif meant.

    Her sister still can't accept the fact that she cares for a stranger more than for her own family. She goes upstairs without another word to kiss the children good night, then she goes out in the night, under the pale light of the Vanir moon. His camp is not so far from the cottage and she hopes he has returned. She doesn't see why not as the trees provide such a convenient shelter, but there is always the possibility that he took off definitely. When she arrives at the camp, the fire is going on happily, but there is no sign of the stranger. She steps into the bright dancing light and drops off the small knife on the same stone as before, then she looks up quizzically, trying to figure out where he is. She can see the remnants of his meal close to the fire, fishbones and some roots he must have dug out. Good, she thinks, he can fish. At least, he needs not go on an empty belly.

    She looks around until she sees his prints on the soft grass and she follows them as quietly as possible until she reaches the shores of the Ocean. The calm and rippling water glistens with the moon light, while the golden leaves of the Barri Woods trees rustle in the wind. And in this eery setting, she spots him, completely naked, entering the water, his undone hair caressing his shoulders. His legs are so long and lean and even from her hiding place, she can see the wiry muscles tightening as he advances. She cannot take her eyes away, even though she knows she should, as she has never seen a man naked before. She notices that his markings twine on his thighs and calves as well, making them appear even longer than they already are. She feels the blood rush to her cheeks as her eyes settle down on his firm butt, and a tingle suddenly arises in her belly. Under cover of a tree, she watches him, hypnotised, as he smoothly plunges into the sea, barely unsettling the surface. He swims almost as well as a Vanir, she reflects, full of admiration, because the sea is such an important part of their life. He glides effortlessly, as skilfully as the white dolphins populating the Ocean and before long he finds himself surrounded by them. He stops, startled, as the dolphins arch their backs, disturbing the calm surface, and nuzzle him gently. He starts to laugh, visibly delighted, and the sound is like the chiming of a bell in her ears. It is the first time she hears his voice and it brings a smile to her lips.

    Let the animals loosen his defences, she thinks, watching him play and frolic with the dolphins. Water splashes around him as one of the beasts jumps out, and he catches its back fin as it plunges back into the sea, letting the dolphin carry him away in large circles. Esja's eyes widen in wonder for never before has she witnessed such a joyful scene. The dolphins seem to have adopted the stranger as one of their own and they swim with him in unison as no Vanir has ever dreamed of. She watches them for a long time before he decides he has had enough and returns to the shore, soaking wet, and even though she knows she should avert her eyes, she stares eagerly at his lean body as he walks out of the sea, his member in plain sight. He shakes his head then wrings his hair before drying himself with the cloak. After dressing up, he makes for the woods and his camp, passing so close to her hiding place that for a moment she thinks he will see her, but he doesn't and she follows him back in silence. He sits beside the fire, deep in his thoughts, and catches sight of the knife gleaming on the stone. He gets up and grabs it, and for the first time, dares to speak aloud.

    "Who are you? And why would you help me?" he calls in a low voice.

    At first, she is tempted to reveal her presence, but she still feels strangely aroused after the sight of his naked manhood, so she stays quiet. What would he think of her flushed cheeks and her unseemly behaviour? He would know that she had spied on him, and she doubts it would make him happy. His question remains unanswered and he stashes the knife in the pocket of his cloak before splaying it on the grass and laying down on it for the night. She watches as he closes his eyes, hoping for the nightmares to leave him alone.


	3. Chapter 3

    In the dark of her bedroom, Esja finds sleep evading her. It's been hours since she has come back home, and the first light of dawn is slowly beginning to rise out of her window, but she has been unable to close her eyes. Every time she had tried, the naked figure of the stranger came to her, causing a heat to radiate in her belly and burn deep inside of her. She almost has a mind to ask her sister if she felt that way about Afrik, but knows better than to mention that sort of subject, even in private. Her door opens suddenly and the twins storm inside the bedroom, jumping on her bed to kiss her good morning.

    "Tante! Tante! Wake up!"

    "I'm already awake, children" she says, wanting to laugh but unable to. 

    Her cheeks are burning with a strong fever, a strange longing for someone she hasn't even talked to, someone who is a total stranger to her, and all she wants is to be left alone in order to deal with her feelings, to at least try to put a name on them. Asvald sees her discomfort and steps away from her bed, taking his sister by the hand and ushering her out of their aunt's room.

    "What are you doing, Asvald?" she protests.

    "Can't you see Tante is unwell?"

    She curls in the bed, trying to shake that longing away, finding it impossible to think about anything else but the uncanny beauty of the scene she has witnessed in the night. 

    "What's wrong, sister? Are you sick?"

    Eilif has entered the bedroom and is sitting on the covers, bending towards her, concern shading her deep brown eyes. Esja shakes her head, but the dark rings circling her eyes betray her lack of sleep.

    "I told you you shouldn't have gone out in the night..." sighs Eilif. "Stay here with the children while we go to the fields. You can always tell them stories. You know they love it when you tell stories."

    Esja shakes her head again, this time more vigourously. Although she wants to be left lone, she dares not find herself with only her thoughts. She needs to busy herself, to do something with her hands.

    "If you don't mind, sister, I'd rather work in the fields today. Why don't you stay with them for a change?"

    Eilif looks at her sister in wonder. Not that Esja avoids working outside, but she usually prefers the company of the children to that of Afrik. And there is something odd in her eyes.

    "What happened? What troubles you so?"

    "Nothing... It's nothing, I assure you." 

    She tries to sound convincing, but Eilif eyes her suspiciously. She gets up as soon as her sister leaves her bedroom, washes her face and hands in the washbasin facing the window, letting the sun warm her and soothe the ache in her limbs, to no avail. The pain she feels is not physical, but much deeper. She cannot fathom what is causing so much unrest in her, except that all she wants is to see the stranger again. But she resists the urge of shifting and flying away from her bedroom. She fights it with all her will. She must not let him trouble her so much. She dresses up as fast as she can, putting on a very covering dark brown dress and tying her hair in a knot before fastening a beige kerchief on her head to protect her from the sun. She flies down the stairs and grabs a quick breakfast before rushing out of the house to the fields. 

    She works in silence all morning, planting the seeds next to Afrik. He is very taciturn as well, so it saves her from having to explain why she has decided to come sowing instead of staying home with the children. From times to times, she pauses, looking up in the air, and the vision of the blue stranger emerging naked from the Ocean fills her head. But she shakes it off and goes back to work. Furrow after furrow, she spreads the seeds in the freshly-tilled earth, knowing that the harvest will once again be lush, just as it always is. It is nice to have something to do, to work in the sun, and be with herself. Her mind wanders as the work is not tiresome. Everything grows so well in Vanaheim. The weather is so perfect and the soil so rich that it barely takes any effort to grow anything. Wheat is their first production, but they also grow barley, and fruits in the orchard as well as vegetables. 

    The day passes just the same, eating with her sister for lunch and going back to the fields in the afternoon, and soon it is evening. As dusk falls on the cottage and Afrik lights a fire, Eilif serves the cake she has baked with the children. It's a nut and carrot cake, deliciously spicy, and the first thing Esja thinks about is how she would like to share the cake with the stranger. As soon as she has finished eating, she takes two big helpings of it and wraps them in a napkin. She puts her hood on and waves everyone good night. her sister doesn't even try to stop her, but Afrik holds her arm back before she can cross the threshold.

    "I don't know who that man is and I don't want to know, but maybe you shouldn't help him so."

    She cannot believe what she has just heard. Hospitality is the first rule of Vanaheim. Why would Afrik say such a thing? Does he believe the stranger is some kind of criminal? She frowns at him, a deep crease forming between her brows.

    "Don't get me wrong, wife's sister, I don't mind giving away my wealth. But remember that: one day, the debt will have to be repaid."

    She doesn't even bother to answer her brother-in-law. She shakes her arm free from his hold and disappears into the night.  
  
* - *  
  
    In the Barri Woods, Loki has had another boring day. He has walked back to the river to get some fish and nothing new has happened. He has explored a little further until he came to high cliffs plunging into the Ocean, but has seen no sign of the Vanir so far. He has used the knife to carve himself a wooden spear that he intends to use for hunting. He has spotted deer in the woods and it would change him from the fish. He has not seen the eagle today, he thinks as he lies down on his cloak for the night. Maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe it was not even the same bird. But he looked for it, and when it did not appear, he felt disappointed. 

    He closes his eyes, knowing he will again have the nightmare. It's been more than a year that he has not had a night without one. The pain is more or less intense but always present, and his brother is always there. And maybe that's what hurts the most. He goes to sleep knowing he will find no rest, knowing that the following day will be as boring as the one before. What is the point in going on? When will Odin be satisfied? Can Heimdall see him? Does he even bother to, when he knows that he can't do any harm without his magic? He drifts away with those unanswered questions and the same images haunt his dreams. Thor, Odin, Frigga... They call for him. Thor tries to catch him but he falls endlessly, sucked in the spiralling vortex, pain making his brow sweat. He shifts uneasily until that singing voice lulls him and calms him. Again.

    When he wakes up, his hair is all sticky with sweat and his shirt is drenched. The sensation is not very pleasant, but he doesn't have any other clothes. He will have to wash his shirt soon, he reflects as he gets up. The fire has died some time during the night and he shivers as the wind blows softly. Will the nightmare ever disappear? He stretches all his limbs, one after the other, first his arms, then his legs, making all his bones crack, and takes a sip of water, looking around. For the third time in a row, there is something for him on the stone, another bundle, smaller this time. He opens it and can't help but smile as the delicious smell of the cake fills his nose. His stomach rumbles and he takes an eager bite. His smile widens as he swallows. The cake is truly excellent. Even better than the honey cakes he used to be so fond of in Asgard, the ones that his mother's cook used to bake for him because she knew he was so partial to them. This one is less sugary, more spicy, but no less savoury. He finishes it, then wraps the second slice back in the napkin, keeping it for later. 

    He wants to go hunting now. It is time to test his new spear and see if it is efficient enough to kill a deer. He doesn't really need to hunt. He could just eat berries and roots and more fish, but he has to find an occupation or he will go crazy, doing nothing but sit by the fire or go to the river to find water. He cannot just wait around for time to pass. Spear in hand, knife in his pocket, and hood thrown back, he sinks deeper into the forest, and soon enough, finds deer tracks. He follows them for a while until he sees it, right in front of him. It has not caught his sent, so he climbs into a tree to have a better angle for shooting. The deer is grazing peacefully, unaware of Loki's presence looming above him, poised and ready. He silently waits for the deer to raise its head, then he throws his spear so fast and so precisely that it pierces the animal's carotid. It's an instant kill and the deer collapses to the ground, the spear sticking out of its neck. Loki pounces on the ground to retrieve the weapon and blood gushes from the wound. 

    Looking highly satisfied at his own skill, he cleans the tip of the spear in the grass, and that's when he hears it, a loud growl coming right from behind. He swirls, only to find himself face to face with an enormous grey wolf, baring its teeth at him. The wolf takes a step towards him, glancing at the deer with eager eyes. Loki only has the spear and the knife, and he's not in a vantage position. He needs something to distract the wolf so he has time to swing one of his weapons. Just at that moment, a raucous shriek rings out and a stone falls from the air right on the wolf's snout. It is all that Loki needs to throw the knife right at the beast's throat. Readying the spear if needs be, he waits but the wolf falls down, dead as well. Loki looks up, his eyes searching for the place where the shriek and the stone came from, and there it is, the familiar shape of the white-bellied sea eagle perched on a big low branch. Now, that's too good to be true. Birds don't help people. At least, normal birds don't. Especially great raptors such as this one. He calls after it:

    "What are you?"

    Slowly, the bird turns into a human form, its talons transforming into legs and feet, its wings into arms. Soon, it is a woman sitting in the tree, a blonde woman in a dark blue dress, hair falling wildly on her back, pale eyes wide with what? Fear, wonder? He doesn't know, but he stares at her, mouth open in surprise. He has to admit, he had not quite expected that. 

    "Come down" he offers, holding out his hand, thinking So that's my mysterious benefactor...  
  


    As Esja shifts into her woman form, she shudders, still shaken by the violence of the scene. She has never seen anyone hunting before, although she knows that sometimes Afrik ventures into the Barri Woods for just that purpose. She doesn't really like the taste of meat, so she has never eaten anything that he has killed. And the wolf was so impressive. She knew there were animals of this kind in the woods, she had just never encountered such a big one before. The fear was just too strong and it had triggered the transformation, and here she was, sitting on that branch, a silly girl trembling and scared and too shy to utter a single word. The Jotun stretches his hand to help her get down, but she dares not take it, she dares not touch him. Visions of his glistening blue body, still soaking wet as he gets out of the water, blur before her eyes, superimposing with his real self, waiting for her to come down. She shakes her head, closing her eyes, and when she opens them again, he is still waiting, head turned upwards, red eyes filled with curiosity.

    She swallows hard, her throat dry as he beckons her to come down. She slips to the ground, as graceful as the bird she impersonates, her skirt fluttering around her legs. But she stays still, and Loki can see she is trembling. Great, he thinks, he has managed to frighten the only person to have shown kindness to him in more than a year... Patiently, he waits for her shivers to steady, studying the lines of her face, from her pale almond-shaped green eyes to her full mouth, and when she has calmed enough, her breathing almost returned to normal, he asks:

    "Who are you?"

    She doesn't answer at first, for she has met his red gaze and is lost in his strange eyes, so he repeats the question:

    "Who are you? And why would you help me?"

    This time, she seems to stir from her daze and she slowly answers:

    "Esja... I'm Esja Finnasdottir."

    He puts on his best smile. Now that any hope of secrecy has vanished, he might as well show the best side of him. At least, she has seen him in his Jotun form and she has not fled. No, she has even helped him, several times.

    "Well met, Esja Finnasdottir."

    "And who might you be, may I ask?" she stammers.

    He had hoped she would not ask, but of course, it was unescapable. He has to reveal his identity, now.

    "I am Loki..." he begins, but before he has the time to finish, she interrupts: 

    "Loki Odinsson?" and her eyes are filled with wonder, this time. "A Jotun?"

    His brows furrow, and she can see she has hurt him. She bites her lower lip, muttering an excuse.

    "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

    His eyes flash at her, silencing her. She stares at her feet, meekly. Thoughts tumble in her head. Loki... A prince of Asgard... Banished here... And he's a Jotun! How is it even possible? The lord Freyr, who told them all about the Aesir, had never hinted anything of the sort. She raises her head, her eyes meeting his once more, but this time without any fear, without anything else but kindness and some curiosity. Yes, she is curious to know the whole story, but everything in its own time. 

    "Well met, indeed, Loki Odinsson" she finally says, acknowledging all that he is. "I don't need to know the reason of your presence on Vanaheim. All I know is that any stranger in need of help will find it here."

    It can't be as simple as that, he thinks, shaking his head. But her eyes show only understanding and compassion. And she has already done so much for him. How can he repay that? Only three days in Vanaheim and he's already deeply indebted. When all he ever wanted was to be left alone. Why couldn't she leave him be? Why did she have to help him? He knows the rules in Vanaheim. He knows he will have to repay, one way or another. He shifts from one foot to the other, his hands fidgeting, and she can see his discomfort. She reaches out for him, but he evades her touch. It suddenly dawns on her.

    "Do you want me to leave you alone?" she asks in a very low voice.

    He looks at her in the eyes.

    "Yes, leave me alone..."

    She heaves a deep sigh before nodding to him. She understands. It's just like she told the children, he needs more time. He must have gravely suffered. She knows a little about what he has done. The lord Freyr has told them the tale last Autumn. But since that, many things have happened of which she has no idea. She will leave him be, then. She slowly turns and starts walking away when she hears him calling her:

    "Esja!"

    She stops right in her steps, not daring to look back.

    "Will you come back later?"

    There is longing in his voice and her heart skips a beat. She smiles to herself, overjoyed for her heart desires nothing more.

    "Yes, I will" she simply says before going away in the depths of the woods.  
  



	4. Chapter 4

    As she makes her way through the woods and back home, Esja cannot help but wonder at the identity of her mysterious stranger. Loki. Odinsson. Brother of Thor. Was he really what he pretended he was? And why was he in Jotun form? Was it as a punishment for crimes he had committed? She wishes she knew more about him than the child's tales that Freyr often tells them in his halls, when he comes back each year for Lammas. But maybe even the lord Freyr was not privy about certain secrets of the Aesir. Better to keep that revelation to herself, she thinks as she crosses the orchard, for she doesn't think her sister would understand. And Afrik even less. She will come back to him and try to learn more. That is, if he wants to talk about his past, which she highly doubts. 

    The rest of the day passes. She takes care of the children, cooks, weaves, cleans, milks the cows in the evening, all the while thinking of him. She resolves to let some time pass before she visits him again, just to clear her head, for every time his image springs in her mind, she feels her insides burn with a passion she has never felt before. She has never been in love. She doesn't even know what it's like. All she knows about love is what the songs tell. Being very private about their feelings, the Vanir do not like to talk about such things, so it is all a mystery to her. She has never been courted by anyone, and even at the harvest feast, no one ever asks her to dance. She always remains with the musicians, singing the whole night through, while the other maidens get all the attention. She knows her shape-shifting abilities are what sets her apart. That, and her family history. Such a sad story... Other Vanir have always shunned her. That is why she lives with her sister, the only person who has ever cared about her. And for a moment, she had thought she would be content to lead that calm and quiet life, that solitary life, but then Loki had appeared and a strong desire for his company has grown in her heart. She wants to know him, to spend time with him. She longs for the sound of his voice, the glow of his strange red eyes, the chiming of his laughter, his smile as sharp as the little blade she gave him. She is fascinated by him, by the confidence he displays even though he's lost on a planet he doesn't know, by the suffering he seems to have gone through, by the inner conflicts she confusingly senses in him. She goes to bed with all these thoughts in her head and dreams of him as they walk on the beach, holding hands.

    She lets several days go by, trying to calm the turmoil in her head and body, weaving new clothes for the children and for Loki. She knows he will soon need another shirt and she takes pleasure and pride in the interlacing patterns she sews in the very light grey fabric, reminding of the markings he bears all over his face and body. When her work is finished, she knows it is time for her to pay him another visit. She sets out in the evening, the new clothes and some food packed under her arm, without any word of explanation for her sister. She can feel Afrik's disapproving glance as she steps outside but couldn't care less. Her mind is set and Afrik has nothing to say about it. She has decided to bestow gifts of her own making, this time, gifts that are hers to give. Hers, and no others.

    She walks through the woods, under the golden canopy of high trees that she has known all her life. The path is so familiar that she doesn't need any light, even if the moon reflected on the leaves makes the forest shine with an almost translucent glow, illuminating  her way. She soon rejoins Loki's camp and she shyly calls for him before stepping into the firelight, not wanting to startle him. He is busy sharpening tools with his little knife and when he hears the slight sound of her voice, his eyes shoot up, searching eagerly for her in the shadows of the trees. When he finally glimpses her, a small smile graces his face, like the first spring flowers blooming after a long winter.  
  


    It's been days since the eagle woman helped him kill the wolf, and Loki was beginning to wonder if she would ever come back, despite the promise she had made. Every day, he has expected her, and every day he had to go to sleep more disappointed than he likes to admit. The fact that the woman is also a shape-shifter titillates him more than it should. He feels a strange closeness to her, like a familiarity, that comes from sharing the same ability, even if he cannot use it now. So, when she finally appears out of the darkness, softly calling his name, a joy he cannot explain overcomes his heart. He cannot believe how lonely he has felt, those few days. Even if has always been the solitary type, sometimes shutting himself for days in his father's library, he misses company. For most of his life, Thor was always with him, and it is hard to be separated from his brother, even though it was his own decision. It's not so much that he wants to talk to the woman, but he hopes her simple presence will be sufficient to keep his demons at bay. He has tried to keep busy as much as he could so that they would not come and visit him, but it was at night that they refused to leave him alone, and he had had the nightmare again and again, each time waking up sweaty, his shirt soaked. Maybe if she stays a little while with him, he can go to sleep without any worry, though he seriously doubts it.

    As she comes closer, he can see her hair is pinned down low on her neck. Golden locks have slipped from her bun and caress her face gently with the breeze. She wears the same sort of hood she has left for him and her figure is hidden from his view. He doesn't even know if he finds her attractive but her hair reminds him somehow of his brother's and he feels a deep longing shooting through him. He jumps to his feet to greet her, a little too fast, for she startles, pausing, uncertain. None of them know what to say. Both of them are loath to break the silence, and they stare at each other for a long time, their breaths heavy, eyes scrutinising every single detail of the other's face, like they're both under a spell. He notices again the uncanny paleness of her green eyes, very pure, very transparent, and the inner glow of her diaphanous skin. She is not quite how he pictured the Vanir. She is not tall or overly proud as he had imagined they would be. She is different from the Aesir, right, but again, that sense of familiarity strikes him and he takes one step towards her, breaking the charm.

    "Welcome back, Finnasdottir."

    His low voice rings through the silence and she nods, still studying his face. She hands him her pack without a word, and while he looks inside, she reflects that his skin is that exact shade between the Ocean blue and the colour of the sky when the sun has set and night is slowly falling, not quite dark but not pale either. His markings are almost black and the dancing flames are reflected in his shining hair. From a distance, she had not noticed, but now that she's close to him, she can see that his horns are slightly paler than the rest of him. She suddenly feels the urge to touch them and she frets, not knowing what to do with her hands. His red eyes widen with awe as he takes out the new clothes she has made for him, black trousers of a leather so smooth and fine he has not seen the like of even in Asgard, and grey shirt of the lightest of fabrics.

    "Where do these come from?" he asks as he strokes the material, his eyes following the intertwining pattern she has woven into the shirt.

    "I have made them myself" she replies with pride, head held high. "I take it you find them to your liking" she continues as he smiles at her again, his white teeth flashing.

    He hands her the clothes back, worry creasing his brow up to his horns.

    "I cannot accept such a gift. There is no way I can ever repay you."

    She looks hurt. No one should refuse the legendary Vanir hospitality. Whatever the gift, it should always be gratefully accepted. 

    "No repay is necessary" she says flatly. "Take the gift as it was given, simply and without any reservation. This is the first rule of Vanaheim."

    He can see he has made a mistake, but these Vanir are so mysterious. There is hardly any writings on them and he was never in very good terms with Freyr or Freya. He keeps the clothes and rummages in the pack to hide his uneasiness. She has brought food, as well, goat cheese, dried fruits and another large piece of bread. He thanks her and gestures for her to sit down. She does and he sits next to her, beside the fire. He looks at her intently while she stares at the flames. They stay quietly there, until she decides it is time for her to leave.  
  


    She comes back every evening, with food, and they start talking, more and more each day, growing more comfortable in each other's presence. She tells him tales of the Vanir, of Njord their king, of Aegir the god of the sea. Tales of fishermen, of sea captains, things that he knows nothing about. And in his turn, he tells her of Asgard, of Thor, of the various wars they had taken part in, and she can feel the longing and the love for his brother in his voice as he speaks. Sometimes, she comes during the day as a sea eagle and she fishes for him in the Ocean. He likes observing her as she spots her prey, sweeping down on it, catching it in her talons and dropping it on the white sand for him. Her transformation is always graceful and it strikes him how much she looks like the great bird. But always he refuses to come with her to the cottage. 

    One evening, though, after she has gone, he follows her, stalking her silently as only he knows how, and by the window, he catches glimpses of her family: tall brown-haired and simple Eilif, proud and muscular Afrik, dark-haired twins listening to their aunt singing them to sleep. He listens too, charmed by her voice. He had not suspected she had such a talent and once again, she reminds him of his own family. Not his brother, this time, but his mother. She would sing him lullabies when he was a child, stroking his hair as he went to sleep. One time, particularly, comes back to his mind. He had been very sick, as no Aesir is ever sick, and she would keep vigil beside his bed, not allowing anyone else in his room. She would sing to him and in his fever, her voice was his only source of comfort. He had healed and never after that had he felt so close to her. It was like they had drifted apart when he got better. Esja's voice has the same quality, soothing and lulling. Although it is higher and clearer than his mother's, it has the same effect on him, to the point that he feels tears swelling in his eyes. They roll on his cheeks and he wipes them with one brush of his knuckles, ashamed of his vulnerability but glad that no one is there to witness him crying. He withdraws as quietly as he came and returns to the camp, and the nightmare is even more violent than before.

    The next day, as she arrives at the camp, she is stricken by his stern face as he sits there, brooding. His brow is even more furrowed and his eyes are so dark that they're almost black. His cheeks are even more hollow than they normally are and she instantly knows something is wrong. She aches to touch him, wrap her arms around him and comfort him, let his head rest upon her shoulder as she does with her sister's children. But she dares not approach. She has never set a fingertip on him, although it has been all she could think of for weeks.

    "What's wrong?" is all she can think of saying, and the genuine concern in her voice is almost too much for him. He braces himself, though. He doesn't want her to see him at a loss. He shakes off his nostalgia and assures her he is quite alright. He can see the doubt in her eyes.

    "Are you feeling lonely?"

    Her trouble moves him and he reaches for her, cupping her cheek in the palm of his hand. She twitches as his cold skin touches her, sending a shiver through her spine and he pulls back his hand, frowning. He shouldn't have touched her, he thinks in dismay. She clearly doesn't want him to. Why does he always have to ruin everything?

    "I know you have said you needed no friend, Loki, but I still think it is wrong for you to stay on your own. Come with me. My sister will welcome you heartily."

    He cannot believe she still wants him to come and stay with her family. He shakes his head. He is not sure he will be that welcome, especially since she hasn't yet revealed his identity to them. But she insists:

    "You have to come. You can't stay alone forever. And you said you wanted to repay  me for all the kindness I've shown you. Soon it will be harvest time and we would welcome all the help we can get."

    She is so eager, so insistent, that it becomes harder to refuse. He starts regretting having ever let her into his life. He will need to be harsh with her in order to make her understand. His jaw tightens, his fists clench as he sets his mind on his resolution. He will tell her he won't come. He will tell her to go away and leave him forever alone. 

    "Loki..." she implores.

    Hearing his name pronounced in such a pleading tone sends all his resolve flying away. He finds it impossible to deny her. How is it? What has she done to him? He fidgets, unsure what to reply and finds himself agreeing at last:

    "Alright. I'll come."

    Her face lights with joy at his words and she hurriedly helps him gathering his few possessions before taking his hand in hers and setting for her sister's cottage. He is shocked to feel her small hand over his when he had thought she didn't want him to touch her. Her skin is warm and it feels delicious to finally share a contact with another person. She tightens her hold, wrapping her fingers around his. As they cross the woods in silence, she only concentrates on the feeling of his fingers close to hers. Cold but smooth. She wonders if he ever feels warm or if cold is his natural state. When he had brushed her face, it had sent a jolt of fire through her body and she had known, right at that precise moment, that she could never live without him. It was as simple as that. She had never known love, or desire, but when she had felt his cold skin on hers, it had dawned on her. That was love. That was desire. She wanted him fiercely, like she had never wanted anything or anyone. She knew her craving would never leave her and that was what had prompted her to take his hand. And as she feels her flesh slowly warm his, she knows she will never again find rest. She longs to know what his hair feels like, what his lips taste like. She wonders if he is cold everywhere, and the thought sends a rush of heat to her cheeks.

    They have reached the cottage now, and the twins have seen them from afar. They start to run, all excited and shouting for their mother:

    "Mamma! Mamma! Tante is back with the stranger!"

    Eilif rushes out of the door and halts in wonder. Her sister has told no lies. The stranger is stunningly beautiful, all tall and lithe, long black hair falling on his back, horns curving proudly at the sky. The children are already clinging to him, talking excitedly, both of them at the same time, and Eilif quickly ushers them away.

    "Stop bothering him, children" she says, before giving a small curtsey. "My name is Eilif Finnasdottir and this is our humble home. You are most welcome to it, if you do not shun field work."

    She doesn't even know what prompted her to curtsey, but the stranger looks like royalty to her. Esja chuckles at her sister's reaction.

    "You see, I told you she would welcome you!" she chimes happily before stating in a more formal way: "Eilif, may I present you Loki Odinsson, prince of Asgard."

    Eilif's eyes widen in surprise. What is that mystery? Loki Odinsson, a Jotun? There is much that needs to be clarified. But the children take Loki's hands and rush him inside the house, laughing. And to Esja's surprise, Loki lets himself be led with grace, and even with a smile. While he is gone visiting the house with the twins, Eilif eyes her sister with wonder.

    "How long have you known?"

    "Almost from the start."

    "And has he told you anything about his... appearance? Or his purpose?"

    Esja shakes her head: "It's not important, sister. He will reveal everything in his own time. Meanwhile, we have to make him feel at home as much as possible. Do you think Afrik will find his presence a problem?"

    "As long as he helps in the fields, Afrik won't say a thing. I know him. He seems rough but he has a kind heart."   

    Somehow, Esja doubts it is entirely right. But maybe it is her own dislike of her sister's husband speaking. Only time will tell.


	5. Chapter 5

    Summer passes on Vanaheim. Everyday feels the same under that heat. Wheat grows in the fields, making the country surrounding the cottage look like gold. It is truly a wonder to behold, endless fields of gold, as far as the eye can see, with the occasional green pasture where cattle are grazing. There is not much to do during the summer, apart from watering the fields twice a day, and Loki has been amazed to see the system the Vanir use to irrigate each furrow. He has done his share of helping Afrik digging trenches from the river to the fields, which was quite hard work, especially under the ever bright sun of Vanaheim. He could have easily shirked the job if he had so chosen, and taken care of the animals instead.  He found it his duty to help with everything he could and because he has the cloak Esja gave him, he can work outside as long as he has enough water to drink. 

    The days pass and it is always the same routine. They wake with the sun, very early in the morning and eat breakfast before going to the pastures to milk the cows and the goats. The more they are and the faster it takes, so they all go, even the children. After that, they always go to the fields to check the watering. The Vanir take an immense pride in their carefully tended fields and it is easy to understand why, for never before has he seen such lush and fertile land. When that is done, they go back to the house and everyone has a different task. The vegetable garden needs to be tended, then there is also the fruit orchard with its apple, peach and cherry trees. He likes the orchard, its powerful fragrance, especially when the sun shines bright. He likes it because it is one of the rare moments when he can be alone with Esja. The orchard is her territory.

    Then, there are all the household chores and the schooling of the children. That's his moment to shine. His knowledge is so extensive that he has taken it upon himself to educate them, and as they clearly appreciate his company, it has not been hard to convince Eilif and Afrik to let him do so. Being with the twins is always an immense pleasure and they are so eager to learn, the ever curious Sveina and her thousands of questions, and the more reflective Asvald, always taking the time to absorb what he has just learnt. Loki particularly likes the boy as he reminds him of his younger self, but the girl is also very endearing. And most of the time, Esja listens to him as well, and he doesn't know why, but he always feels the need to impress her somehow, to make her eyes glow with admiration. More than anything, he wants her approval, and he often finds himself eager to please her. Some things never change. Always he has had to prove himself, and now more than ever, he doesn't want to disappoint her for she has placed her complete trust in him and he is still not sure he understands why. Why would these people, why would she, take pleasure in his presence?

    Esja... She has shown such kindness, he reflects as he relaxes after a hard day's work, sitting in the rose garden, surrounded by the fragrance of the delicate flowers that the two women grow, merely for the pleasure of it. Esja... Thinking of her confuses him and he closes his eyes, but her image still haunts his mind. She has been his guide in almost everything, and he enjoyed being with her far more than with any one else, save for the twins, maybe. His first day at the farm brings a faint smile to his lips as he recollects how she had shown him the way to milk the cows. She had placed her stool next to one black and white cow, taken hold of its udder and squeezed the teat with a quick and sure gesture, directing the pure white milk in her bucket, and though it had seemed easy, he had felt like a complete ignorant when it had been his turn to try. He had reproduced her gesture hesitantly and had of course failed to get any milk. She had laughed, a good-natured and hearty laugh, quite unlike the laugh he was used to whenever he failed at a task. It was not a mocking laughter, but merely the expression of her mirth at his clumsiness, and it had unsettled him. But she had placed her hand on his to guide him, and her simple touch had been enough to give him more confidence. He had finally succeeded and she had signalled her approval with a quick nod, saying:

    "You see, once you get the knack of it, it will become easier."

    He had looked in her pale and serious eyes and his stomach had tightened. Thoughts of her lying down on the straw of the barn, her golden hair splayed all around her lovely face, had suddenly sprung to his mind, and his breath had quickened, but she had already jumped to her feet, taking her stool to another cow, unaware of the state of unrest she had provoked in him. He had tried not to think about that little episode. He wasn't sure how she would react if he told her she awakened a strong desire in his loins. She would surely be horrified. Who would want to have anything to do with his ugly Jotun self? Being friendly was one thing. But he was certain she felt nothing more but pity for him. So, he had done his best to keep himself busy, so as to avoid thinking about her.

    So, summer passes, and nothing notable happens. Loki keeps his feelings and thoughts for himself, while Esja tends to private business of her own, in her bedroom. He knows better than to ask what she's doing, but there is such an air of conspiracy between her and the children that he can't help but feel very intrigued. The harvest begins at Lammas, when the wheat kernels are fully ripe and ready to be cut, and it is a wonder to see them work in unison, sickle in hand, singing as they cut the berries before gathering them on the little cart they use for transportation. It is a merry time, and even though it is hard work, the family's pleasure is contagious and Loki begins to sing with all of them.     Occasionally, other farmers from the village nearby come to help and though they know of Loki's presence, they are amazed to see him in person, and the word spreads of an Asgardian prince residing in Afrik's little cottage. But the Vanir are very discreet and they leave him alone, no one asking any questions about the reasons of his banishment or his strange Jotun appearance. Still, he feels ill-at-ease, and shuns other Vanir as much as he can, preferring to work with Esja or Eilif whenever possible.   
  
* - *  
  
    One evening, as he returns after harvesting most of the wheat, the twins take his hands and lead him to Esja's bedchamber, winking at each other, large smiles on their faces. 

    "What is going on? Won't you tell me?" 

    He knows they have all been preparing for the harvest festival, and that is probably why Esja has been locked in her room whenever she wasn't working in the fields. But the twins don't answer and just shove him inside her chamber, telling him to close his eyes. When he is finally allowed to open them, he instantly understands the reason for such secrecy. Esja has been working on ceremonial clothes for him, and she stands proudly next to the bed where the garments are spread out. He rubs his eyes, speechless before the beauty and the delicacy of the outfit displayed before him. He had thought the trousers she had previously made for him were fine, but those new ones are even finer, made of the sheerest leather he has ever seen, so polished that they glisten in the late summer sun. The shirt is a dark green silk embroidered with incredibly thin golden threads, and the pattern is so subtle it is a wonder to imagine hands have woven them. The three-quarter coat somehow looks like the one he used to wear on Asgard, but is made of the same leather as the trousers. And the boots, though sturdy and highly resistant, are fabulously supple and stretchy. Never before has he seen such fine clothes, and he marvels at how everything in Vanaheim seems better or more beautiful. He reaches out for the garments to touch them, feel them, and again, he is surprised at how smooth they are under his fingers.

    "Thank you" he manages, turning to look at Esja. "But you shouldn't have taken all that time to work on them. I barely deserve such attention."

    "Do you like them or not?"

    He nods, just one small inclination of his head, but the light in his eyes betrays his pleasure.

    "So, my time was not wasted" she goes on. "Besides, you must look your best for the festival. I want all the maidens to swoon at you..."

    Puzzled by her words, he waits for her to continue.

    "Now, put them on. I have another surprise for you" she says before leaving the room with the twins at her heels.  
  
    When he has refreshed and changed clothes, he meets everyone in the main room and Esja cannot hide her satisfaction at seeing him so finely dressed. The wonderful garments reinforce his air of royalty and he walks straighter, his head held higher, horns proudly pointing at the sky. She gestures him to sit down and seizes a tortoiseshell comb.

    "What are you going to do? My hair doesn't need combing" he half-heartedly protests as she starts working her way through his tangles. 

    She doesn't reply but continues smoothing his hair, strand after strand of long black silky soft hair, until it shines as brightly as his new leather coat. She then proceeds to plait it and he frets, wondering what he will look like. When she is finished, she adds two gold rings around his horns and hands him a mirror so he can look at himself. He gapes at his reflection, and she smiles, casting conniving glances at the twins. She has entwined golden threads in his hair and his overall look is one of majesty and grace. For a minute, he thinks of himself as beautiful, but his red eyes and blue markings prevent him from really enjoying his sight. The twins and Esja do, though, and Sveina calls her mother who comes down and stops in wonder as soon as she envisions him, clapping her hands at her sister's handiwork. Esja winks at him before adding again:

    "I told you, all the maidens are going to swoon."

    And truthfully, when they arrive at the festival, all the Vanir women's eyes turn to him, some with curiosity, others with pleasure, and even a few with a fire close to lust. Esja goes to sit with the musicians, next to the big bonfire, as is her habit.  He is left alone as Afrik and Eilif mingle with the crowd and the twins dart off to play with other children their age. But he is not alone for long, for soon three young girls come hovering around him, giggling. Embarrassed, his eyes search for Esja, but she nods at him, encouraging him, so he starts listening to the ramblings of the maidens, and with the music going on louder and louder, soon forgets his uneasiness. Although he has resolved not to dance with anyone but Esja, he finds himself entering the circle with the girls holding his hands. 

    After a moment, all dizzy, he has to stop and once again, he looks for Esja while the three Vanir girls chat merrily to him, and that's when his smile fades. She has stopped singing and is standing in front of a kneeling man who has taken both her hands in his, as if proposing to her. Blood suddenly rushes to his face and his cheeks turn purple. A jolt of electricity runs up his spine and his hands curl into fists. He swirls and leaves the festival hurriedly, unable to contain his shock and fury. He walks for a long time amidst the freshly harvested fields until he reaches the last field before the cottage, the last one where the ripe kernels haven't already been cut, but his anger doesn't subside. She had never told him she had a suitor. He wants to go back and smack the bold man in the face. What right has this peasant to her? She is his, and his only! He almost turns back, but only manages to fall on his knees in the wheat, crying out loud his frustration and his jealousy, fists beating into the earth. Slowly, his anger calms down, only to be replaced by cold confusion. What is happening to him?

    "What is wrong? Why did you take off so suddenly?" he hears behind him and he turns to face her, red eyes flashing, annoyed at being caught unawares.

    "Nothing." he mutters and she reaches to him to help him to his feet.

    He brushes her hand away rudely and she steps back, his state of fury finally dawning on her.

    "What are you angry at? You were having so much fun..."

    "It's nothing, I tell you. It is not worth acknowledging."

    "Is it because of the girls? Did they upset you somehow?"

    "No, it's not that." She won't leave him be, so he simply states: "You didn't tell me you had a suitor."

    "A suitor" she says, questioning his meaning.

    She clearly doesn't understand so, infuriated, he explains, and she listens, not daring to interrupt him. When he is done, she bursts out laughing and it exasperates him even more.

    "Sandar? He does that every year, but he has no mind to me. It's just because he is so frustrated that my sister refused him, so he thinks by marrying me, he can get closer to her. Something like that. I would never consent to such a marriage!"

    "So, you didn't? You are not engaged?" Loki inquires.

    "Of course not. What a ridiculous notion!" she exclaims, abashed. "Why would anyone want to marry me, anyway? No one has ever courted me" she goes on, sadness shadowing her eyes.

    His anger abates as suddenly as it has risen and he fidgets, unsure of what to do next. He looks away in the distance, trying to hide his shame at having made such a scene, mumbling an excuse. Esja stays silent, staring at the kernels gleaming pale gold under the dim light of the Vanaheim moon as she suddenly understands the reason for his anger. He was jealous, she thinks in shock. No, that cannot be, he cannot. Her mind races as she tries to process the meaning of all this, when he blurts out:

    "Why did you leave me alone, anyway?" he questions.

    He sounds plaintive and hurt, like a lost child, and she remembers the nightmares he keeps having at night. She knows because his room is right next to hers, and he sometimes wakes her up with his whimpers.

    "I only wanted to dance with you" he continues.

    They can still hear the music from the festival, faintly muted in the distance, but still plainly audible. She smiles at him, placing her hands on his shoulders. 

    "We can still dance if you'd like”, she suggests.

    He barely takes hold of her waist, not daring to pull her close to him. He can smell the sweet aroma of her hair, roses and musk, and his breath catches in his throat. He dares not look at her and feels totally awkward when she rests her face on his chest. She is so much smaller than he is... He breaks their embrace, suddenly aware of the warmth of her body pressed to his. Her body feels so warm and so unmistakeably desirable. How can she want to touch him, when he is so ugly?

    "I'm sorry. I can't" he tries to explain but stops short.  He turns his gaze away as she looks up through long eyelashes.

    He starts to make his way back to the cottage. Flustered, she stands there, unable to believe he has rejected her after making such a display of jealousy. She runs after him,  and when she catches up with him, reaches out to touch the hollow of his back, sending a shiver rippling throughout his spine. He swallows, halting. She doesn't know what prompts her to do so but her fingers brush his cheek from behind, slightly turning his face towards her and, raising herself on the tip of her toes, she plants a soft and chaste kiss on his cheek, at the exact place where a dimple appears when he smiles. Loki's breath stops as her lips press on his skin, warm and firm, just a fleeting touch. A shudder runs through him as she pulls away, trailing her mouth to his ear to whisper:

    "You are beautiful, Loki. In every way."

    Hearing her pronounce his name sets him on fire and, surprised by the intensity of his desire, he bends on her, seizing her waist so suddenly that she lets out a shallow gasp, and their eyes briefly meet, widened and pupils dilated, before he takes her mouth, his lips crushing hers. It is the first time she has ever been kissed and it feels even better than in her wildest dreams. His lips are cold, as she had expected, but not freezing, and they tingle her pleasantly, as fresh icy water just drawn out from the river. She clings to his shoulders and he lifts her from her feet as his tongue reaches between her lips and teeth, licking her own tongue. He claims her mouth as surely as a master claims his servant, but she doesn't meekly submit. Instead, she presses her hands on the nape of his neck to pull him closer and entwines her tongue around his, tasting the salt in his mouth, eliciting a small groan from him. He is forced to pull away so he can catch his breath and she falls back on her feet. His red eyes are darkened, his pupils eating his irises, his nostrils flared as he breathes in and out rapid gulps of air. His cheeks are flushed, a deep purple, and he suddenly blurts out:

    "No one,” he says with a pause, “No one has ever kissed my Jotun self."

    A smile appears on his face, revealing very white and predatory teeth. She cocks her head, very like the eagle that is her alter-ego.

    "And no one has ever kissed me before."

    "A maiden?" he says as he suddenly realises.

    Her head is spinning, the taste of salt still in her mouth, leaving her craving for more.

    "Oh, Loki, I want you and no other" she says, her eyes fierce. "I don't want to go home. I want to spend the night with you."

    She sits down in the furrow and takes his hands, pulling him to her. He joins her and lays her down gently on the warm earth, bending over her, his hair brushing her face. A gentle breeze makes the wheat kernels dance as they kiss again with the white Vanaheim moon for only witness.  
  
* - *  
  
    In Asgard, a concerned Thor makes his way through long golden corridors until he reaches the quarters of the guardian of the Realm.

    "What news of my brother, good Heimdall? Can you see him? Tell me, for I cannot bear not to know what's become of him."

    The watcher, looking in the distance at the faraway stars, only replies:

    "He is doing good. Better than I thought."


	6. Chapter 6

    Dawn finds Loki and Esja cuddled close together in the wheat, eyes closed but not sleeping, fingers entwined, hair mingled, black and gold, gently caressing their faces with the light morning breeze. Esja stirs first, feeling the first rays of the sun warming her face, and she lovingly brushes Loki's cheek. He opens his eyes at her tender touch and they stare at each other, bathed in the rosy glow of the upcoming day. Loki had not expected such an outcome when he had been banished. Now, he doesn't know whether he wants to come home or if staying in Vanaheim would not be better. He has lost his magic, but he has also been welcome for what he is. No one has judged him, no one has treated him differently because of his appearance, and that in itself is a wonder to him. He has even found what he dares not call love just yet. Again, she is lost in his eyes and she has that smile on her lips that tells him she wants to kiss him. He bends on her and brushes his cheek with his lips, enjoying the shudder it provokes in her.

    "We'd better go home, or my sister will start wondering what has happened to us" Esja says reluctantly.

    Loki nods and they make their way to the cottage, hand in hand. The soft pressure of his cold knuckles on her fingers is enough to make her happy, but she quickly pulls her hand away as Eilif rushes out of the door to meet them. A look of surprise fleetingly passes on his face and she shakes her head once, signalling him to let her do the talking.

    "Where have you two been?" Eilif's tone betrays her worry.

    "We just spent the night talking, that is all" Esja answers promptly.

    She has never lied to her sister before, but she wants to keep her new love to herself. Not that she fears Eilif would not understand, but she is not ready to share it yet. The memory of their kisses lingers in her mind, a pure moment of bliss, and she wants to hang on to that feeling for as long as she can. 

    "You have not forgotten you have to go to the sacred grove today, haven't you?" Eilif continues.

    She had quite forgotten, all lost in the magic of the night with Loki, and she fusses with her dress, trying to hide her uneasiness. She knows the priest will ask her again and she has no sensible answer to give. She hopes he won't be too insistent.  
  


    She clings her offering to her, a fragrant bouquet of fresh rosemary branches full of small lavender flowers, as she steps inside the sacred circle of rowan trees. She is soon greeted by Nehallenia's guardian priest.

    "Good day to you, Esja Finnasdottir."

    She only nods drily, hoping that if she is not overly friendly, he won't ask her again. She places her offering for the goddess on the stone altar without any word and starts to leave when the priest calls to her.

    "Finnasdottir! Where do you think you're going? You still haven't given us an answer and you know that the goddess hates waiting."

    She turns slowly, facing the priest, holding her chin up.

    "I am sorry, guardian, but I do not wish to become a priestess" she finally states, hoping it will be enough.

    "But you had the calling. You cannot deny that" the priest insists.

    It is true, there is no point in denying it. She had the calling. She still has the utmost desire to dedicate herself to that spiritual life, to establish a connection with the goddess who has been so kind and understanding to her when she was so lost. After realising that she would never be able to master completely her shape-shifting abilities, she had thought that the best place for her was to serve, as a priestess. But now, she is not so sure. She had thought she would never find love, and yet it had come to her, in the most unexpected manner. She doesn't know how long Loki intends to stay, but from what she understands, he is not able to leave as long as he doesn't have his magic. She has no clue as to what made him lose his powers, but she intends to keep him with her as long as possible. The perspective of losing him just when they are both discovering their feelings for each other is more than she can bear, so she replies, a bit too vehement:

    "I am not denying anything, but now is not the right time. I do not want to be a priestess. I am sorry if I have given you false hopes, but that's just the way it is. Please, do not ask me again."

    The man is taken aback. He had not expected such a definitive answer.

    "And may I ask, what has made you change your mind?" he inquires.

    "No, you may not!" she hisses, a little more angrily than she had intended, before turning her back and leaving the grove.  
  


    As she makes her way back to the house, she passes next to the stable and she suddenly feels the need for the comforting presence of the horses. Her refusal has shaken  her more than she wants to admit and she is trembling all over, a sure sign that she will soon shift if she doesn't calm down. She pushes the door and the strong warm smell of the horses surrounds her. She takes a deep breath, trying to slow down the powerful thuds of her heart when arms seize her waist, startling her. She finds herself wrapped in Loki's embrace, his mouth already searching for her neck, pushing aside her large braid with his nose so he can kiss her delicate flesh. His lips touch her pulsing vein and she clings to him desperately as he sucks and feeds on her skin, tangling her fingers in his long hair. His contact is surprisingly soothing, and she lets out a strangled sound she thought she was incapable of producing. Heat rises between her thighs, rushing through her, and she tightens her hold on his hair, curling his locks around her fingers and pulling at them. He presses his mouth against her ear.

    "I have missed you incredibly" he whispers, his cold breath tingling her, pushing her slowly but surely against the wooden wall.

    His kisses during the night had been soft and pleasant, and had aroused all sorts of new sensations in her, but nothing like this sudden wave of heat. He nibbles at her jawline, pressing his whole body against her needfully, pinning her against the wall, his hips grinding. She can feel something hard pushing at her belly and his intentions are suddenly clear. She had not expected it would happen so soon and she is not ready. She knows what he wants. She wants it too. She had just thought he would have courted her first. Her hands fall limp to her sides and her body sags. She stops responding to his kisses, her mouth evading his lips.

    "No, Loki" she protests. "Not here. Not like that."

    He freezes at her refusal, eyes suddenly darkened with pain, and falls down on his knees, burying his face in the large folds of her russet flax skirt. His arms hold her legs tight and, sensing his distress, she gently strokes his hair between his horns. 

    "I'm sorry, Esja" he finally manages, raising his face to meet her eyes. "I shouldn't have. I forget that you are a maiden. And I'm a guest here. It seems I'm throwing off all the rules of hospitality."

    She waits for him to continue. There are two solutions now. Either he tells her this was all a mistake, in which case she would run back to the grove and give herself entirely to priesthood. She doesn't have time to think about the second option, for he takes her hands, imploring her.

    "I have such a strong desire for you, Esja. I never thought I would find anyone like you, so sweet, so loving. I thought you had only pity for me. I was so wrong. I want to stay here with you as long as you'll have me. I will do things properly, I swear!" he pleads fervently. "Tell me what I have to do. I don't know what the Vanir customs are in terms of courtship. Who should I ask for permission? Your sister? Afrik? Your parents?"

    Elation fills her heart. He wants to do things right. Except, there is no way of doing them right and she frowns, wondering what to do, what to say. 

    "Normally, you would have to ask my father, but you can't do that" she sighs, taking his hands to help him back to his feet. 

    He doesn't dare interrupt her. He can see sadness in her eyes as she speaks, so he lets her get hold of her emotions. She sits on a haystack and he sits right next to her.

    "You see, I do not know who my father is" she finally puts in. "My mother went on a trip to Noatun but she disappeared for a time. No one knew where she had gone. When she finally came back, she was pregnant. Her husband, Eilif's father, got angry and tried to know what had happened but she refused to reveal anything."

    Her chest heaves as she tells her tale and Loki takes hold of her shoulder, leaning her close to him.

    "She gave birth to me" she goes on. "And as soon as he saw me, he hated me. He took me to the Ocean and left me there to die. Then he killed my mother. Slit her throat, I was told."

    She pauses, and Loki tightens his hold on her shoulder. She snakes her arm around his waist, resting her head on his chest for comfort.

    "I'm only alive because Eilif followed him to the beach and brought me back home. She raised me and took care of me."

    "And where is your mother's husband, now?" Loki inquires.

    "He was arrested right after that" she replies. "He didn't even try to resist. As far as I know, he's still rotting in King Njord's prison in Noatun."

    Loki ponders her words for long minutes.

    "So, it seems I should ask your sister, as she's the one responsible for you" he finally says.

    Esja looks up, shaking her head, a faint smile forming on her lips.

    "Eilif is no longer responsible for me!" she exclaims.

    "Afrik?" 

    She shakes her head again. 

    "Who should I ask, then?"

    "No one, I guess. Only me. I am my own master."

    She chuckles at the sudden realisation that she is free to do whatever she wants. Very seriously and very solemnly, Loki takes both her hands in his.

    "Do you, Esja Finnasdottir, give me leave to court you?"

    Her eyes light up as she accepts, and he presses his lips on her fingers, sealing the agreement.  
  
* - *  
  
    Night has fallen on Vanaheim, covering the fields, warm and dark. Esja and Loki cross the Barri Woods, their way lit by the pale Vanir moon, waning over their heads. Esja leads the way, Loki's slender fingers caught up in her small hand. He has never been in that part of the woods before, he thinks as he looks at the magnificent trees. They are even higher and larger, and the golden leaves will soon start to fall, but for the moment, they are still hanging high, reflecting the light of the moon. They walk with haste, and Loki's breath quickens with anticipation.

    Finally, after long weeks of courtship, Esja has agreed to be his. At the time and in the place of her choosing. She had looked at him with a grin that had made him want to have her right where they stood, but he had managed to control his sudden rush of desire. When the night had come and everyone had gone to sleep, they had slipped outside unnoticed and here they are, headed he knows not where. His heart beats faster with every step and he wonders if she feels the same. He is stressed for she is a maiden still, and he doesn't want to hurt her. He wants it to be as pleasant for her as it will be for him. And he cannot wait to discover her sweet body under those covering dresses of hers. He has touched her, caressed her, over her flaxen clothes. He has felt the roundness of her breasts underneath the garments. He knows how slim her waist is for he has often wrapped his hands around her. But he wants to know the true colour of her skin. He wants to feel the curve of her hips. He wants to taste her flavour. Everywhere.

    They come down to a small clearing. The scenery is enchanting, amidst the golden trees, and he soon understands why she has chosen this particular place. Tiny flashes of green light shine intermittently all around the clearing. Fireflies, he thinks, a smile curving up his lips as he spreads the blanket he has been holding on the grass. She doesn't sit down. Instead, she swiftly unties the knot of her belt, unclasping her beige over-tunic and letting it fall down at her feet. Her boldness makes her feel strangely lightheaded. She wonders if he will like her when he sees her naked, but instead of dreading that moment, she rushes right through it. She pushes him down and he can't do anything but sit as she bends to remove her soft leather shoes and her light socks, standing barefoot in the soft grass.

    "Slowly" he begs her as she unties her long forest green dress.

    She unhooks the bronze brooch holding it up and lets it slip down her bust, revealing her creamy white skin.  He swallows hard as his eyes fall on her breasts. Round, ample but firm, her nipples pointing up, dark pink against the paleness of her skin. She still holds the dress at her waist, waiting for his permission to continue. He nods, expectant, and she takes her hands off the garment. It falls down, rippling at her feet and she steps away from it, suddenly shy and trembling. Loki doesn't move. His eyes trail down her chest to her slim waist and the curves of her hips. Her legs are perfectly shaped and he wants to grip her, leave his mark on her pure white flesh, still untouched. He feels an uncanny satisfaction at being the first one to see her naked beauty.

    "Untie your hair" he orders her, his voice husky, and she unknots her bun. 

    Her golden hair comes tumbling down in long straight locks, framing her face and caressing her shoulders. She bites her lips at his silence. Without any word, Loki slips his shirt over his head, wanting to feel her soft breasts on his skin, but stops short as he feels her eyes following his markings.

    "So beautiful" she sighs, dreamily, at the vision of his bare chest, gleaming blue in the flashing lights of the fireflies.

    He raises his eyes at her again, unsure what to do. He wants her, but how can she want him? How can she say he is beautiful? The fire in his loins is hard to resist, though, and he jumps to his feet nimbly, towering over her. He looks so lean, yet his shoulders are broad and strong, the muscles of his wiry arms visible even in the faint light. She reaches for him, tracing the lines of his markings and she sees his skin rippling with a shiver. He wraps his arms around her, tentatively stroking her back, pressing her breasts against him, her nipples caressing softly his naked chest.

    "Why don't we lie down on the blanket?" he suggests. "We'll be more comfortable."

    He sits down and pulls her to him until she lies on her back, her knees closed. He bends on her, brushing her lips with his, taking them between his teeth and gently biting. She snaps back at him and he chuckles at her eagerness. His long black hair falls around his face, caressing her cheeks and she opens her mouth for him, letting his tongue slide in. His chest against her bare breasts feels smooth, and his coldness soon subsides as she roams her hands on his back, warming him with her urgent caresses. His hands flutter down her sides, tingling her, setting her ablaze with an intense longing. She feels a wetness between her thighs and she shifts uneasily, not quite sure how normal that is.

    "Have no fear" he steadies her, before planting small kisses along the line of her jaw, down to her neck and on her collarbones.

    He then presses his lips on the hollow between her collarbones and she tightens, a strange sound coming out of her mouth. He continues down until his lips reach her breasts and he kisses one nipple, feeling it harden under his mouth. He looks up at her face and she looks back at him, eyes wild, silently begging for more. He cups her other breast in his hand, feeling its weight, and starts kneading it as he sucks at her nipple. Goosebumps rise on her soft flesh and she lets out another throaty moan, gripping his waist. His thumb tickles her nipple, making it harden with his expert touch, and each of his caresses is another delightful discovery. She is all nerves under the skin and the slightest of his touch is almost unbearable. Yet, she cannot help but twitch nervously as his hands trail down her belly towards her hot centre. She keeps her knees closed while he nibbles at every part of her bust, his mouth descending slowly to her belly. He licks her belly button, tasting it, gently biting it, then he slides his hand between her thighs, opening them slightly.

    She gasps as she feels his mouth, now no longer cold but burning hot, on the inside of her thigh. She throws her head back, all apprehension forgotten, opening her legs wider for him, her breath now coming out in quick sharp intakes of air. His large hands stroke at her thighs, going all the way up until he reaches the apex, so dangerously close to her cunt. He can see how wet she already is and he has to take a pause, holding his breath, trying to relax. His erection is straining against the leather of his trousers and he longs to bury himself inside of her, but not yet. She is not yet ready for him.

    After taking long gulps of air, he starts rubbing his hand on her folds, coating his palm and his fingers with her juices, finding her clit and taking it between his thumb and forefinger.

    "Loki!" she cries out as an unexpected pleasure shoots through her body.

    He then slides a long slender finger inside her and she jerks suddenly. She is so wet the finger glides easily, so he inserts another one to prepare her for his cock, waiting for her to be completely at ease before thrusting them back and forth slowly. His eyes meet hers as she raises herself on one elbow, biting her lips to repress the squeals of pleasure coming from deep inside her throat. He pulls his fingers out, licking them clean, his eyes never leaving hers, a hungry smile on his lips. She watches him, fascinated, lost in his dark red stare, as his tongue swirls rapidly on his long fingers. He then takes her hands and directs them to his crotch, making her rub his bulge through the leather. At first, she doesn't dare apply any pressure, but when he lifts her to kiss her again, she begins squeezing harder and he groans inside her mouth. He has to have her. Now.

    He unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his trousers, freeing his erection, and she stares at his hard member with widening eyes, suddenly afraid. He is so big that she is quite sure now she won't be able to take him. He pushes her back on the blanket, kneeling between her thighs, and he grips her butt to place her in the best position possible. The tip of his cock is barely touching her slit and she can't help but beg:

    "Do not hurt me, Loki, please."

    With a lot of control, he slowly slides his tip inside her, pausing to ask:

    "Is it alright?"

    She nods, shivering a little at the coldness of his member. He pushes further, feeling a slight resistance, and she winces, biting her lower lip as she feels the pain.

    "It won't last long, I promise" he reassures her, thrusting harder, tearing the thin membrane of her virginity.

    She whimpers, biting her lip harder, and he pulls out, holding her tight and peppering kisses on her face. 

    "I swear, it won't hurt anymore" he murmurs. "Do you want me to continue?"

    She only clutches at his hips, grinding her cunt on his cock, nudging him. He caresses her folds with his tip before guiding himself inside her for the second time. His hard length slides easily and he groans. Her walls clench around him and he feels her shiver again.

    "You're so cold" she gasps.

    He cannot refrain anymore now and he thrusts deeper, wrapping her legs around his waist. Her breasts bounce with each thrust until he fills her completely, and her hands grip his butt. The pressure of his cock against her walls is pleasant and she feels comfortable now. She even starts rocking her hips to his pace, moaning as he groans. And with a last thrust, he tightens as spurt after spurt of his thick seed shoot inside her. He shudders, heaving a loud sigh, and collapses on top of her. She strokes his back lovingly, thinking of the way his cock turned warm after a few thrusts. He kisses her lips gently, panting, all spent, tiny beads of sweat shining on his forehead. She smiles at him, utterly happy, as he rolls on his side. His arm snakes around her waist and he presses his forehead against hers before closing his eyes.

    "Sleep, my Loki" she whispers.

    And for the first time in more than a year, he sleeps soundly, without a nightmare, as she sings softly to him all night long.


	7. Chapter 7

    Life is so simple here, Loki reflects as he gets ready before meeting the family for breakfast. It's been more than a week that he hasn't had the nightmare. He still thinks of Thor, of course. That will never go away, he guesses, but it's not as painful as it used to be. Maybe, given time, he could get used to that simple life, for it seems that Odin has all but forgotten about him. Hasn't he been doing good? Doesn't he feel love in his heart? Wasn't it what his father wanted him to find here in Vanaheim? Love, compassion and honesty? Love and compassion, he knows he has found. Honesty, he still has some effort to make in that domain. But he is doing his best to be as honest as possible with Esja. Sometimes, he even thinks of staying here with her forever, living that simple life. He almost proposed to her yesterday, and he would have if Afrik had not chosen that very moment to enter the stable and announce that tomorrow, the lord Freyr was inviting the whole village in his hall. Loki is troubled now. Freyr has never seen him in his Jotun form, but he must certainly know of his banishment. Suddenly, he is not quite sure he wants to go and he fumbles with is belt, having to try two times before successfully clasping it around his hips.

    "Why are you so troubled?" he hears behind his back and he turns to meet Esja's pale inquiring eyes.

    She is standing in his bedroom doorway, in a light blue dress, her golden hair falling on her right shoulder in a large braid, and she looks so lovely that he has to refrain from pulling her to him and have his way with her right there. Eilif and Afrik know about his courtship, of course, but they wouldn't take it so well if they knew Esja had already lost her virginity. While he finds exciting having to hide to have sex with her, it can be annoying at times. But it is her choice and he respects it. The Vanir have very strict rules about hospitality and he is still their guest. He would simply be punished if they found out he had abused their trust, even though he has not taken Esja by force. That is why marrying her is the only solution, and the sooner the better for he is tired of those hiding games, and he knows she is too.

    She steps inside the bedroom, shaking her head at the unmistakable flicker of desire in his eyes, a wide smile on her face.

    "Sit down and let me help you with that" she suggests, taking the comb and starting to arrange his hair in several braids, tying them with golden clips. 

    When she is satisfied with her work, she strokes his hair one last time, making him sigh with longing and he turns, encasing her in his strong arms, not caring that anyone could see them. She exhales a gasp before his lips find hers. She lets him in and his tongue dances in her mouth, tingling her with its chill as it always does. Giggling sounds from the doorway force them to stop and when he releases her, two pairs of identical brown eyes stare at them, and the twins blurt out almost at the same time:

    "When are you going to marry Tante, Loki?"

    A quick influx of blood flushes his cheeks purple, but before he has the time to think of an answer, Esja ushers the children away.

    "Do not ask him such a thing!" she protests.

    "Did you see how embarrassed he was, Tante?" Sveina asks, her voice shrill with excitement.

    Esja picks up the little girl and whispers in her ears:

    "I saw, my little flower. But not yet. No, not yet."

    Her heart twists in her chest. She knows the source of Loki's discomfort. Meeting the lord Freyr must surely unsettle him, for various reasons. Let us hope it doesn't kindle old wounds. Or worse, old desires.  
  


    All the villagers are crossing the Barri Woods, making their way to Freyr's hall in a long procession, each of them bringing gifts of their own making. Afrik is particularly proud of his homemade barley beer, the best in all Vanaheim. Feeling very festive, the Vanir laugh and sing on the way, and Esja clutches Loki's hand for all to see, very proud to show that the Asgardian prince has chosen to bestow his affections on her. Children run back and forth, curiously casting glances at the unlikely couple and she shoos them away with a smile when they get too insistent. Loki hasn't talked to her since she left his room in the morning, but she knows he can sometimes be secretive. He will tell her what bothers him when he judges the time is right. For the moment, she happily daydreams, recalling with a fond smile the weeks they have spent discovering each other's bodies, becoming bolder and more self-assured each time. 

    She still remembers vividly the indescribable pleasure she had felt when he had put his head between her legs, his tongue caressing the centre of her ecstasy. But the memory that is fondest to her is the look he had given her when she had come with him inside of her for the first time. Just when she had thought she had reached the peak of her delight and could take no more, she had felt her walls clench several times on his cock and he had felt it too because his eyes had widened and he had rammed her even more passionately after that. Every day held a new discovery, a new pleasure, even if hiding wasn't always easy. But she never regretted her decision. The sound of his moans when she stroked the base of his horns was enough to let her know she could never go back. The first time she had tried it, he had not expected this sudden rush of adrenalin. Now, she only had to brush her thumb on them for him to be ready. Being a Jotun had certainly some advantages, she thought, slightly biting her lips.

    They have reached Freyr's hall, and Loki gapes at the beauty of its walls made of strong golden wood. It reminds him somehow of the Golden Palace, back on Asgard, not as majestic or grand, but no less impressive. They are let inside by Freyr's manservant Skirnir, who counts them as they enter, welcoming them each with a stern nod of his head. His eyes betray nothing of his thoughts when Loki throws his hood back, revealing his blue face, his long black hair slowly falling into place on his cloak. Before sitting at the large tables laden with food, the lord Freyr makes a point of greeting them all by name, accepting their offerings of cheese, milk, honey, and beer. When it is Afrik's turn, Freyr's blue eyes glimmer with delight at the generous gift of beer and he thanks Esja's brother-in-law warmly, taking him in a warm and friendly embrace. When Esja steps in to give her small fragrant goat cheeses, he quickly accepts them with a smile before waving her away, acknowledging Loki's identity with a handshake.

    "Loki Odinsson" Freyr simply states. "Even in your Jotun form, I would have known you for who you are. I am glad to see that you have been welcomed by my people."

    He pauses, his eyes turning towards Esja who cannot hide her pride at seeing her lover so well accepted.

    "And more than welcomed, by the look of it" Freyr continues. "I am more than willing to bless the both of you, if such is your wish."

    Esja turns a bright crimson at those words, looking at her feet. She should have expected that Freyr would see through them right away. Such was always his talent. And he was notorious for blessing unexpected unions. She knew he was married to the Jotun Gerda, though she had never seen Freyr's very discreet wife.

    "My lord" she whispers as she bows low, gracefully curtseying.   
  


    When the Vanir procession and gift giving is done, they all sit to enjoy Freyr's bountiful table and the lord beckons Loki and Esja to join him at his personal table. It is the first time such an honour is bestowed on her and she knows the reason. Freyr certainly wants to talk to Loki and tell him about Asgard, about his family. So she is not surprised when he asks the question that was on his lips since morning:

    "Freyr, tell me how fares my brother?"

    "I believe Thor is well, although he visits Heimdall every evening. It is common belief he asks about you, although it could very well be because of the impending war" Freyr replies, a thoughtful look on his face.

    "War?" Loki interjects, his smile at the thought of Thor asking news of him fading. "What war?"

    Freyr regrets his words instantly. He should have kept that for himself. What was he thinking, telling the banished, the powerless Loki about Asgard's problems? But now that it is done, he might as well recount the whole story.

    "Yes, Loki, Asgard has been threatened by the Dark Elves. It seems that one of them has infiltrated the Golden Vault, under some disguise, and has managed to take hold of the Casket of Ancient Winters. For what purpose, none know."

    Loki listens intently, for only a wielder of great magic could have succeeded in such a deed. And that means only another equally great magician can take the Casket back. He frets on his chair, not understanding why Odin has not summoned him back to Asgard. They need him. That is clear to him. Under the table, he feels Esja's hand tightly grip his fidgeting fingers, as if to soothe him, as if she knew what he was thinking.

    "Odin has not yet assembled the army" Freyr continues, unaware of Loki's unrest. "He has sent an ultimatum to the Dark Elves. They have to give the Casket back before the end of winter or Odin will unleash Asgard's wrath on Svartalfheim."

    Loki's mind races. By the end of winter? Is that why he is still stuck here? Or maybe Odin has not judged him worthy to come back yet. If his father thinks he can get the Casket back without his help, he is mistaken. Highly mistaken. He needs to find a way to regain his powers. For only with his magic can he go to Svartalfheim and retrieve the Casket before war happens. Esja's hand on his is far from having the relaxing effect she intended and he plants his nails in the soft flesh of her palm as his thoughts collide in his mind. From the corner of his eye, he can see her wincing slightly, and he releases her hand, ashamed of himself. He turns his gaze back to Freyr.

    "Your brother has asked for your return, but Odin won't grant it - yet" Freyr finishes, his eyes meeting Loki's.

    Of all the things he has heard, this revelation is the one that hurts the most. His fists clench on his thighs. His throat feels suddenly very dry. He doesn't know what is more painful - Thor worrying for him or Odin's lack of faith in him. Either way, he has to come back. He has to prove his brother right and his father wrong. If he could find a way to get the Casket back, Odin would see him for the worthy son he is. But better not reveal his intentions to Freyr. 

    "I am sure they will figure out a way to avoid war" he finally says, very slowly, very calmly, his eyes steady.

    Freyr smiles at him, but Esja's eyes have drifted away as if trying to figure out the meaning behind Loki's words.   
  


    That night, Loki waits for Esja outside, on the bench in the rose garden, but she doesn't come. Strange, for she has never failed to show up before. He stands up with a sigh, when he hears her hurried footsteps on the gravel pathway. Without a word, she flings herself in his arms, burying her face in his chest, long hair falling messily on her back. Out of breath, she pants, her breasts rising and falling fast against him.

    "What's wrong, little bird?" he asks, raising her face towards his.

    Her eyes shine a little too bright in the darkness. That's how he knows she has been crying. Anger rises in him. Whoever has hurt her will feel the power of his wrath. His eyes flash and he opens his mouth to speak, but she silences him with one finger on his lips.

    "Do not speak, or I won't be able to tell you what's on my mind" she begins. "I knew this day would come. I just didn't think it would happen so early."

    He looks at her, puzzled, but lets her continue.

    "Now, all you think about is going to Asgard, going back to your brother. And what of me?" she asks, her voice dying in her throat, her emotion too intense.

    "You can come with me, of course. I would never leave you here."

    "Why? Because it's the honourable thing to do?" Her tone is a little too brisk. "Then why did you not ask the lord Freyr to bless us? That would have been the honourable thing to do."

    Blood flushes her cheeks as her angry words spill out from her lips. She pulls away from him, hair falling on her face, tearing at her dress.

    "I have to go back and help. Don't you understand?" he tries to explain. "They need me. Thor needs me."

    Her eyes flash at him at those words.

    "And I? Don't I need you too?" she pleads. "I care for you. More than anyone does. More than your father does. More than Thor does. Can't you see that?"

    She steps forward, her hands reaching for his, her fingers entwining with his, gripping him fiercely.

    "I gave you everything I have! And yet, you won't marry me. All you say is that I can come with you. But where? You have no idea what to do!"

    He feels a pang of guilt, for he knows she is right. He has no clue as to how he will proceed to get his magic back. All that he knows is that he has to at least try.

    "I cannot come with you. My life is here. So the choice is simple" she goes on. "Either you go away on your foolish quest and I promise you, you won't find what you're looking for. Or you stay and make a new life here with me."

    His eyes break contact with hers. His inner turmoil is too strong. He cannot choose. If he does, it means forsaking a loved one. 

    "Loki" she begs, clinging to his hands, her thumbs stroking his fingers. "Don't leave me. I love you."

    Never before has anyone spoken those words to him, apart from his mother. He furrows his brows, gazing back at her. She loves him. She wants to marry him, have a life with him. Just as he his. Without his powers. In his ugly Jotun form. For a moment, he stops breathing and just stares at her in wonder. Then, he is all upon her, his lips searching for hers, tearing frantically at her dress, an urge impossible to resist making his member rise. They fall to the ground and as he enters her, he whispers in her ear:

    "If that's what you want, I'll stay."

    She clings to him for dear life, tears of emotion streaming down her cheeks, submitting entirely to him, not caring that the gravel of the pathway is hurting her. That night, after gifting her again with his seed, he swears he will marry her. And he believes that is truly what he wants, for when he goes to bed, he dreams of two birds, a white sea eagle and a black raven, flying together. In her room, just on the other side of the wall, she has the same dream, and when she wakes, she knows what it means. He will regain his powers. Whether or not they will be bestowed back by Odin, she knows not, but she feels it with the utmost certainty. And if she can help him save his planet from war, then so must she try. Her mind is set now.


	8. Chapter 8

    It has been two weeks since Loki has officially asked Esja's hand. At first, they both had wondered who to ask, but since she lives in Afrik's household, they thought it would be best to wait for Afrik's permission, and he had given it willingly, with one condition only: Loki should build his bride-to-be a home of their own. And so he had set to the task immediately, with the help of all the other villagers. Working on the house kept his mind from wandering back to Asgard, Thor and the Casket of Ancient Winters. During the day, he didn't feel the longing for his homeland as much as during the night, but he clings to the hope that being able to spend his nights with Esja will forever obliterate thoughts of going back home. So he works relentlessly, building her a comfortable home as fast as he can. The sooner they are wed, the better for him. He is so busy that he can't even spend time with her, as much as he would like to. But he knows she understands. She has been strangely calm and silent since he has proposed to her. He would have thought she'd be overjoyed, but she hid her feelings very well if such was the case.

    This is the morning of the wedding and Loki suddenly feels nervous as Afrik enters his room to help him get ready. A priest waits in the main hall, and a priestess as well, for Esja. He wants to talk to her, to see her, but he has been told such was not the Vanir custom. He would only get to see her at the ceremony. He tries to clear his head as Afrik opens a big wooden chest he has never seen before, taking out a simple sword with a golden hilt engraved with runes. The sword looks ancient, but still very sharp, its bright blade shining in the first rays of the morning sun.

    "This is the sword of my brother, Svein" Afrik explains. "I'm giving it to you, in honour of your bride, my wife's sister. Take good care of it, and may the gods grant that you never have use for it." 

    Loki takes hold of the sword, feeling its weight in his hand. He is not used to such heavy weapons, having always preferred his daggers, much more convenient, and much more efficient. But he knows it is part of the Vanir wedding rituals, so he accepts it with a nod, acknowledging Afrik's gift. The other man could just have let him find a sword on his own, but he chose to give him one of his family heirloom, a clear sign that he has been welcome to the family as a brother. But then, why does he still feel heavy-hearted? No one can ever replace Thor, he thinks, trying not to show his emotion. But his eyes shine too bright and a single tear appears.

    "It is normal to be nervous, brother" Afrik says, patting him on the shoulder, misinterpreting the reason for Loki's tear.

    Loki manages a smile, and Afrik and the priest take him to the bath-house for the next step of the preparation.  
  
* - *  
  
    In Asgard, Heimdall stands on the remnants of the Bifrost, intently watching, his eyes seemingly lost in the distance, when he hears hurried footsteps behind his back. He doesn't even turn, for he knows who they belong to.

    "What news of my brother?" Thor inquires, his worry forming creases between his brows.

    "Loki is about to get married" Heimdall simply answers, still gazing into the distance.

    Thor takes a deep breath. At times, he really doesn't understand his brother. How comes he wants to stay with the Vanir when he knows the dangers for Asgard? Or has he changed that much? The Vanir woman that Heimdall told him about cannot have such an influence. He cannot believe it.

    "So, he still hasn't changed his mind?"

    "He is very conflicted, never doubt that. But he is honourable."

    "Duty first" Thor puts in, his brows even more furrowed than before. "Or does he  truly love her?"

    "I do not know the secrets of his heart" Heimdall replies, finally turning towards Thor.

    The golden-haired man seems angry. He shakes his head wildly, his blue eyes flashing.

    "I wish Father would grant his return. We could certainly use his help" he says hotly. "If I had the ability, I'd fetch him right now and prevent that foolish marriage."

    "But is is not for you to decide, my Prince."

    No, it is not for him to decide. Doesn't he know that all too well. For long weeks, he has begged Odin to give Loki back his powers. Hadn't he suffered enough? Wasn't he worthy to come back, now? To no avail. Even Frigga had tried. But Odin's mind would not be so easily swayed. Thor clenches his fist, before storming away, his red cape swirling after him.  
  
* - *  
  
    Esja is listening to the chatter of Eilif, Sveina and the priestess as they help her put on her wedding dress, a purple flaxen dress with long wide sleeves that she has made especially for today. She is not really listening, as a matter of fact, for she cannot help but think of Loki in the bath-house, his graceful blue body all wet with sweat as he gets purified in the steam room. Just a few moments ago, it was her turn, and Eilif and the priestess had told her all about her first time and how she would lose her virginity. She had to repress her chuckles. If only they knew. But they probably would not be very pleased with her, she thinks as the other women clasp her dark-blue over tunic on her shoulders, using bronze brooches engraved with tree symbols. Then, they comb her golden locks to make them shine like silk before placing the bridal-crown on her head, all woven from straw and wheat and garlanded with little white and lavender flowers.

    "Don't you look pretty, Tante!" Sveina exclaims, clapping her hands.

    It is time now, for the lord Freyr certainly awaits in the holy grove, and she gets out of the house, holding Sveina's hand, walking as if in a dream. Her feet seem not to touch the ground and she blesses all the gods and goddesses for her good fortune before reaching the stone altar where Loki stands with Freyr. She gasps as she envisions him, all tall and lean, in the ceremonial clothes she had made for the harvest festival. He looks even more stunning than ever, with his long dark braids, fiery eyes and horns adorned with golden circlets. He wears a long sword buckled at his belt, hanging at his side, making him seem even taller. In contrast, even the bright and gold Freyr looks dull, for Loki shines like a star, and soon he will be hers. Forever hers. 

    Their eyes briefly meet before both the priest and priestess bring a horse for the sacrifice. A shining dagger quickly slits its throat and Esja cannot turn her gaze from the blood gushing in the consecrated wooden bowl. The priest places the bowl on the altar, murmuring a prayer, then the priestess dips a bundle of fir-twigs in the blood and shakes it before Loki and Esja, sprinkling them with the sticky red liquid to bless them. Just as he has been told before, Loki then presents his bride with his sword, clearing his throat before reciting the words he has been taught:

    "Please, hold this in trust for our son, and his son after him."

    Esja accepts the gift with a quick nod, then she beckons to the young man following her who is holding a sword as well. The exchange is swiftly done and Loki clasps the new sword to his belt. He can feel his heart beating faster now and he tries not to fidget where he stands, clutching his hand on the hilt of the sword to hide his unrest. He knows he shouldn't, but his thoughts turn to Asgard and his brother. What would Thor think if he knew? But then, his gaze falls on Esja, all radiant and glowing, her unbound hair falling on her shoulders, her pretty crown on the top of her head. Desire shoots through him instantly at the love in her eyes. No one has ever looked at him with so much adoration, not even his mother. He takes her delicate hand and places a ring on her finger.

    "With this ring, I take thee, Esja Finnasdottir, as my wedded wife, to have and to hold and to keep safe until death do us part" he says without any doubt, his sparkling eyes meeting hers.

    Goosebumps rise on her flesh at his words and she stops breathing for a moment before remembering she has to do the same. She shivers as she holds his cold hand in hers, sliding her ring on his slender blue finger. She wants to kiss his hand, lick at his palm, bite the soft flesh of his wrist, but it would be highly inappropriate, so she simply pronounces her vows in the same way:

    "With this ring, I take thee, Loki Odinsson, as my wedded husband, to have and to hold and to honour until death do us part."

    Her voice falters a little as she finishes her sentence, unable to believe that it is done. They are now man and wife. But they don't have the time to think about it for the race begins. Eilif takes her sister's hand while Afrik pulls Loki with him, running madly to the little house that would be their new home. All the villagers run after them, but none is faster than Loki with his long legs and his years of practise. When he reaches the hall, he is not even out of breath, while Afrik pants heavily. He stands in front of the doorway and, when Esja arrives, blocks her entrance with his sword, as is tradition among the Vanir. But then, instead of just taking her hand and leading her inside, he grasps her waist and lifts her up in his arms. She wraps her arms around his neck, laughing, taking this opportunity to stroke Loki's hair and he crosses the threshold, letting her slide down on her feet, still clinging to him. He leans down, plants a swift kiss on her lips before letting her go and plunges his sword deep inside a wooden pillar. Afrik whistles in admiration at this display of strength.

    "You will have many children, indeed!" he exclaims, slapping Loki hard on the back, a knowing smile on his face. "Come, brother. I brought some mead. Let's drink and be merry!"

    At those words, Esja swiftly pours the mead in a cup and presents it to her new husband.

    "A toast!" the villagers suddenly roar in pleasure.

    Loki raises the cup and clearly proclaims for all to hear: "To Odin, my father!" before bringing it to his lips and taking a sip of mead. He then hands the cup to Esja so that she can share his mead. Everyone applauds and the merriment begins. Music arises and some Vanir begin to dance. Freyr sits at the table with Eilif and Afrik. The children go play with their friends. Loki and Esja stare at each other, transfixed, and he takes her in his embrace, whispering in her ear:

    "I can't wait for the wedding night."

    And indeed, after long hours of feasting, eating and drinking, they are both led to the bedchamber by torch-light. Eilif and the priestess enter first, laying Esja on the soft bed. When they leave, Afrik pushes Loki inside with a big roaring laughter and closes the door behind him.

    "Have fun, brother!" he calls, a little drunk, before going back to the festivities.

    Loki stares at his wife, offered on the bed, her golden hair spread on the white pillow, the bridal crown still on her head, still fully dressed. She is his, now. Truly his. No more hiding, he thinks, a fleeting smile curving the corners of his mouth. He kicks his boots off before sitting next to her. He bends on her and takes the crown off her head, placing it carefully on the bed-table. He then proceeds to remove every part of her clothing, folding them and putting them on the floor when he is done. She doesn't dare make a move, waiting for him to take the initiative. He lifts her up so she sits on the bed and directs her hands to his waist.

    "Undress me, now" he commands her, and she gets rid of his coat and his shirt. She gently traces a finger on his arm, feeling the muscles tense under his cool skin before unbuckling his belt and slide his leather trousers along his lean legs. His cock is at rest for now and she gazes at it before getting on her knees to kiss him softly on the mouth. He wraps his arms around her waist, pressing her belly against him, and his fingers roam up and down her spine. Shivers ripple on her skin at his freezing embrace, making her nipples harden and he feels them rise against his chest. He holds her closer now, his tongue dancing in her mouth, tasting the sweet flavour of the honeyed mead she has drunk before. She sighs in his mouth, her hands caressing his soft hair, until her thumbs reach his horns. She removes his gold ornaments slowly, very slowly, knowing that each caress, each stroke on that very sensitive part of him is almost unbearable. She can feel him harden with each touch and he groans as his kiss becomes deeper and more passionate. He removes her hands from his horns and places them between their two bodies, close to his erection.

    "Do the same here" he directs her, his eyes pleading for her to pleasure him for once.

    She has never touched his member with her fingers, so she bites her lips, unsure of what to do. But she wants to please him so bad that she gives it a try, her fingers fluttering all along his hard length.

    "Like that?" she asks.

    "Harder" is his only answer, his red eyes observing her fingers closing on his erection, barely repressing a moan.

    Her thumb rubs the base of his shaft, just under his balls and he groans again as she applies more pressure, squeezing as she strokes him up and down, as she does with his horns. She raises her eyes to look at him. His lids are half-closed, his breath is fast now, his expression reflecting his ecstasy. His cock is now very warm under her fingers and she smiles. She likes the changes in his body temperature. Now that he is warm, she wants to feel him inside her, but he directs her otherwise.

    "I want you to take me in your mouth."

    She looks at him in surprise. She is even more amazed to find out that she wants it too. He leans down on the new sheets, so crisp and clean under his body, and she bends on him, her hand still holding his warm member. He lets out a sigh as he sees her opening her mouth, her pink tongue darting out like a snake to lick the tip of his cock. His reaction is such that she feels more confident and she begins to twirl her tongue around his tip. He grips her head and pushes her further so that she has no choice but slide her mouth on his shaft. He groans louder as her mouth engulfs him and she coats him with her saliva, going up and down until she feels him shudder. He bucks his hips and his tip hits her throat, making her gag, before he spurts his seed in her mouth, telling her to swallow. She tries to comply but some escapes her mouth and drips on her chin. He takes her face in his hand and she doesn't dare meet his stare, for fear she has disappointed him by not swallowing it all, but he smiles at her before licking his own come on her chin.

    "Tell me what you want, now" he says in a low raspy voice. "I will satisfy you as you have satisfied me. I want this wedding night to be unforgettable."

    "You know what I want" she replies. "I want you inside of me."

    "Yes, of course. But there are so many ways, and we haven't explored them all yet. So, do you want to try something new? Maybe you on top?" he asks, stroking the sensitive skin of her creamy thighs before wrapping them around his waist.

    She nods, feeling his cock caressing her wet folds. He is still hard, his desire for her still unquenched even by his previous discharge. He snakes his hand between them and guides himself inside her. She utters a loud moan as he fills her to the hilt, gripping his shoulders to steady herself. He licks her neck and her collarbones before his mouth finds her hard nipples and he sucks at each of them alternatively, while she rocks her hips, her walls tight around his cock. The angle is perfect and he hits that spot that makes her eyelids flutter each time. She moans louder and louder, entwining her fingers in his hair now. He grips her butt to take her even deeper and she cries out "Loki!" repeatedly, tugging at his hair, throwing her head back. He bites her nipple as she climaxes, her walls clenching on his cock, her juices flowing, and he slams her even harder on him now, his breath ragged, his thrusts more erratic. He pulls out and turns her around, getting quickly on his knees. He tangles his fingers in her hair, pulling her head back to him as he thrusts in her mercilessly, not even close to his own release. She winces a little, trying to breathe with her nose, but her body is on fire and a second wave of intense pleasure sweeps her again. Just as her cunt tightens on him for the second time, he explodes in her, milking her with his seed. She feels the long squirts with every shudder of his body pressed close to her and when he is all spent, she turns around, hugging him tight, relishing the touch of his sweaty body. He always smells animal after love, she reflects, wiping his sticky hair from his face. He drifts away into a deep dreamless sleep, his legs coiled around hers, and she pulls the covers over them, his steady breath lulling her into oblivion.  
  


    In the morning, he wakes and she is already gone. When he steps down the stairs, he finds her singing softly as she finishes packing a bag. She throws him a piece of bread, amused at his puzzled face.

    "Are you going somewhere, beloved?"

    It is the first time he uses a term of endearment and her smile widens.

    "We are going somewhere" she replies.

    His heart skips a beat as he suddenly realises what she means. He runs to her, catching her in his tight embrace, murmuring in her ear:

    "Are you sure? You said your life was here. And I made the decision to stay."

    "I know" she answers. "But I can see how unhappy and conflicted you are. You are not meant to stay here. You have a greater purpose. I know it. You miss your family. And now they are threatened. I realised how selfish it was from me to hold you back. So, we're going to Noatun. We'll find a way to get your magic back to you."

    He swirls her around, her feet high above the ground, laughing. Before he puts her back on the ground, he rains her face with kisses, and his happiness is enough for her to know she has made the right decision.


	9. Chapter 9

    As they sail along the Ocean shore, on their way to Noatun, Njord's palace and the centre of all knowledge on Vanaheim, Esja cannot help but feel a little nostalgia for her home. Or, to be precise, her sister's home. On the day she and Loki left, their packs full and their hearts light, she had not felt sad, even when the twins Sveina and Asvald had clung to her asking if they would see their Tante again. She was so enthused with the idea of helping her Loki that she had not even shed a tear. She doesn't regret anything, but she feels her heart twisting in her chest and a sigh comes to her lips as the memories of all the good and quiet times come back to her. There is barely anything to do on the boat that Sandar, her sister's old time suitor, has let them borrow from him. The sail is unfolded and the winds are propitious. They don't even have to use the rows. And Loki has been quiet, very quiet, staring in the distance most of the time. 

    She stares at Loki who sits, facing her, his hood protecting his face from the burning and biting sun. The sea is new to him and sailing made him uncomfortable at first. But now, he is quite used to it and he often daydreams, his mind drifting away to places she has never been to. She is certain she knows what his thoughts revolve around. Asgard and the impending war. Retrieving the Casket before the war can actually begin. He has been worried about the deadline, the end of winter. With the preparations for the wedding, winter has already begun. And now the trip, which is taking so long. Loki has not even tried to hide his impatience. That is why it is of the utmost importance that they reach Noatun as fast as they can. Aegir the sea god must have heard her fervent prayers, for the wind has never stopped blowing in the right direction since they have set sail.

    But still, it is not fast enough for Loki who has been nothing but taciturn since they have left. During the day, he utters not a word and at night, he only holds her tight in his arms as they sleep under the bright stars. Esja cannot quite fathom the change in his attitude, and she has been unable to find rest, even in his arms, even breathing the sweet scent of his skin, the musky smell of his long black hair. Loki, though, finds himself free of his old nightmare, and that is a small victory. Due to her? She has no idea. And she can't help wondering if he is already tired of her. She tries to hide her disarray as best as she can, smiling to him, making a point of always looking cheerful. She doesn't want to burden him with her unrest. The voyage is longer than he had imagined and it takes too much time. That is what bothers him. She keeps her thoughts to herself and flies away as much as she can, for when she is in her eagle form, fishing, all her cares seem to vanish.

    It is the middle of the afternoon, and after six long days of sailing without seeing anything or anyone, she finally makes out a bright form in the distance. She shades her eyes with her hand, standing up to have a better view, but she is quite certain that far away are the tall and white towers of Noatun.

    "What is it that you see?" 

    She has not heard Loki's voice for days, and it sounds husky, almost as if he had forgotten how to speak. She turns to him and nods, pointing at the horizon.

    "Yes, my sweetheart. Look, this is Noatun."

    "Finally!" 

    He sounds and looks excited, his eyes shining a bright crimson after being so dull during the trip. He stands up to rejoin her on the bow of the small ship. She points her finger again to show him and as he finally discerns the contours of Njord's hall and city, he snakes his arm behind her, seizing her waist. He squeezes her lightly, his face lighting up with a toothy smile, his eagerness showing in his every feature. She presses her whole body close to him, her longing for him awakened by this simple touch. He simply kisses the top of her head and she feels his joy. Yet, she wonders. Even though it was her idea to help him return to Asgard, she still thinks it is a foolish errand.

    "Tell me, Loki" she begins. "What is it exactly you're hoping to find in Noatun?"

    He looks down at her, very serious and stern. He clearly does not understand her doubts.

    "Didn't you say that Njord has an immense collection of scrolls?"

    She nods back at him.

    "There must be some magic to perform, and it must be written somewhere" he states with conviction. 

    She is impressed by his faith in books. Not that she does not like reading, but the only library in Vanaheim is here, in Noatun, and the only books she has ever had access to were her sister's. Loki, on the other hand, was raised with books surrounding him and he is intimately convinced that he will find his answer in one of them. She can accept that. Still, one question bothers her.

    "But who is going to perform that magic?" she inquires, worry creasing her brow . Since Loki has lost his own, he won't be able to do it. And she knows full well that all magic is dangerous. She has seen the rituals of Nehallenia's priests. Even on her wedding day, she has felt the power in the horse's blood sprinkled on the both of them. He gazes into her eyes, stroking her hair in a soothing gesture, trying to reassure her.

    "I don't know yet, but we'll find out. There must be a way, I am sure of it. My magic cannot be undone eternally. And there is knowledge that even my father doesn't know about. Don't you worry, my beloved."

    She heaves a sigh at those words, burying her face in his chest. She has no doubt that he is right. He will find a way. If anybody can, it is him. She has seen how resourceful he can be, how crafty, how inventive. But then, when his magic is returned to him, what of her? They are married, that is true, by Vanir law. But not by Asgardian law. And she knows there is another one that he loves. One that it is hopeless to compete against. Her heart sinks at the very idea of losing him.

    While her thoughts darken her mood, she sees that they have reached the harbour of the white city, its towers reflecting the light of the bright sun. Time to find accommodation for the night, she thinks as she jumps on the dock to tie the boat. And in the morning, they will head for Njord's renowned library.  
  
* - *  
  
    In the little inn of the port, they have found a room. It is not that big but it will do for the moment. The lady owner had eyed Loki curiously but Esja had put her hand in evidence to show her wedding ring when she had asked if any rooms were available. The lady had gazed at her finger, then had seen the same ring on Loki's hand. Her eyes had filled with amazement but she had taken them to their room without a question. All sorts of people came to Noatun, but the odd couple certainly stood out. 

    Esja had unpacked their clothes, but reflected that the two of them could certainly use a bath after so many days at sea. Her hair is all tangled with the sea breeze and so is Loki's. And she can feel the salt stick to her skin as she takes off her dark hood. Loki is impatient to go to the library and it takes all her will to convince him to go bathe first. He frowns at her, displeased but yields nonetheless. She is right. They both need a good scrubbing. Yet, time is precious and he hates the delay.

    As they walk the meandering streets of Noatun in search of the bath-house. Esja holds Loki's hand in hers, and his familiar cold touch helps with her disquiet. She has never been in such a big city before and there are too many people. Even if no one looks at them, she feels uneasy and she clings to Loki's hand until they finally reach their destination.

    Inside the bath house, the air is hot, saturated with water, but she breathes more calmly. She removes her clothes hurriedly, throwing them in a ball, and slips in the hot perfumed water. She utters a long sigh of contentment as her body hits the water, and she stretches, throwing her head back to wet her hair. Loki is still standing, fully clothed, staring  in the distance at she knows not what. He can't still be angry at her? 

    "Come on! What are you waiting for?" she calls for him.

    He finally stirs from his daydream and she watches as he takes off his clothes, carefully folding them and putting them tidily on the wooden bench next to the tub. His neatness makes her smile. He reminds her of a cat, always so trim and fastidious. Even in the worst of circumstances, he always makes a point of looking his best. She has to say in all honesty, it is not that difficult. Even dressed as a peasant, he would still look better than anybody else. He has such a natural charisma, it would be impossible not to fall under his spell. And indeed, at times, she thinks that is what has happened to her. 

    He stands naked now and her eyes follow the lines of the Jotun markings on his chest and belly. In the faint light and steam of the bath house, he is more appealing than ever, his skin glimmering, a dark shade of blue, the exact colour of the Ocean just before a storm. He steps into the water, taking his time, and she can see each of his long muscles tighten as he sits in front of her. Again, it strikes her how graceful he is, for even if he is very tall, his limbs are all in proportion.

    "Your hair needs washing, my love" she declares, and he turns with good grace, giving her access to his long black mane.

    She slowly unties his hair, unclasping the golden clips holding each of his three braids. She runs her fingers in his locks, relishing their softness, watching how they shine like silk. Then, she sprinkles some water on his head before taking a bronze jar and filling it to the brim. She pours the hot water on him, soaking his hair, and he twitches as it runs down his back, warm against his cold Jotun skin. She follows the ripples on his spine with delight, eager to touch him, to feel him close to her. But not yet. No, not yet.

    "Esja" he moans, closing his eyes. "That feels so good."

    She smiles, taking the bar of soap and rubbing it on her hands to make it foam. Then, she proceeds to wash his hair, strand after strand. He moans again when she massages his scalp, tilting his head back, his eyes closed. Her fingers reach his horns, and her thumbs start stroking them, but he pulls away with a sudden jerk.

    "Esja!" he protests. "Don't do that! You know the effect it has on me!"

    She freezes. He normally enjoys her touching his horns. And there is no one in the bath house at this hour. Has he already lost all desire for her? Her heart heavy, she feels tears welling in her eyes.

    "Just give me the soap, I'll do it myself" he continues, annoyed, turning to take it from her hands.

    That's when he meets her eyes and realises how bright and shiny they are. He stops, his hand suspended in the air.

    "I didn't mean to - " he says, confused.

    She shakes her head, trying to hold back the tears that are inevitably coming.

    "Don't you want me anymore?" she asks pitifully.

    "You know it's not that. I appreciate your company."

    She stares at him in disbelief.

    "Oh, really? That is not what you are supposed to say to your wife."

    All of a sudden, he feels angry at himself. Why does he have to ruin everything again? He loves her, there is no denying that. Why can't he just say so? He looks away from her. Why is it so difficult? Is it because he somehow regrets marrying her?

    She reaches for him, her hand brushing his cheek.

    "I just don't have the mind for that. I'm sorry" he finally manages, still avoiding her eyes.

    She cups his chin and forces him to look at her.

    "Look at me in the eyes and say you don't want me. I'll leave you be, I promise" she says, her voice trembling.

    What has he done? She looks so hurt. He can't stand to see her in pain. But why won't the words come out? Why can't he simply tell her how much he loves her? Instead, he just presses his lips on hers, hoping to make her understand. But she doesn't respond. She doesn't kiss him back or open her lips for him. She just stays still until he pulls his face away.

    "Loki" she begins to explain. "I know your heart doesn't belong to me."

    He bites his lips.

    "It doesn't mean I don't love you every bit as much!" he blurts out vehemently. "It's another sort of love, that is all. Brotherly love. You love your sister, don't you?"

    His eyes are dangerously dark, blood red with his anger and she feels strangely stirred. She did not mean to irritate him, but now that he is, she finds him even more arousing. Her loins ache with a fire, a longing for him she knows she won't be able to quench.

    "Loki" she starts, but she doesn't have the time to finish her sentence that he pounces on her, water splashing everywhere.

    "Just shut up" he orders, his voice hoarse. "I'll prove to you just how much I want you."

    He seizes her waist and turns her. His cock slaps her butt as he sits her on his lap. She just has time to register that he is already hard before he parts her thighs in one swift gesture. He enters her so brutally that she has to hold on to the brim of the tub not to lose balance. Her hands grip the edge so hard that her knuckles whiten. He ravishes her with a force she has never felt in him before, his fingers tangling in her hair and tugging at it. She feels her throat tighten, making it hard for her to breathe. Her eyes begin to water, her head swims. 

    Just at that moment, he releases her hair and brings her back against him, sending water splashing all around the tub. He pounds her fast and hard, his cock hitting the back of her walls with each thrust. His hipbones bang on her back vigorously, making her sway each time, but he holds her so tight there is no way she can escape him. She can hear him pant and groan. His sounds drive her insane with desire. The fire in her belly is too intense. She moans with each brutal thrust, her cunt tightening around him more and more. She can't repress a loud cry of pleasure as he changes his angle slightly, finding her sweet spot. His hard length feels like heaven, rubbing repeatedly against that spot. 

    Her orgasm washes her violently and her whole body shakes, but he continues thrusting, holding her tight with his hand right between her breasts. He sweeps her hair away from her neck with his nose and sucks at her skin, sinking his teeth in several places. She winces in pain but his cock inside her feels so delicious that the sound that comes out from her lungs is a loud moan of ecstasy. Her cunt clenches again on him. A series of shivers run down her spine. She is left breathless with the intensity of her second orgasm.

    "Yes, my love. That's it" he whispers, his voice raspy, his breath ragged.

    His thrusts are even more violent, his hips torturing her again and again, a sweet violation of her whole body. She wonders if he is close to his release when she feels him tightening. With a last groan, he comes, his seed shooting deep inside of her. She relaxes slowly, leaning backwards on him, feeling his chest rising and falling fast as he catches his breath. He encases her in his arms, rocking her gently, licking her neck at the exact place where he has bitten her. She trembles still, but his touch is now soothing. She sighs both in exhaustion and in elation. His body pressed against hers, his cock still inside of her, all of that feels so good. 

    He takes the soap and starts rubbing it on every part of her body. She lets him wash her, and when he is done, she turns and kisses him one last time. She can't believe how satisfied she is to have provoked such a reaction in him, for he has not touched her since their wedding night and she had wondered if maybe, he regretted his decision to marry her. But as his tongue twirls inside her mouth, claiming her as a warrior claims his war prize, all her doubts fly away. When he breaks the kiss, she takes the soap from his hand and rubs it everywhere on his chest and on his arms. She takes an immense pleasure when she feels his muscles bulge under her fingers. He stays quiet until she is finished. Then, he finally finds himself able to tell her what he should have told her a long time ago.

    "I love you, my Esja. Never doubt that."

    When they return to the inn, hand in hand, she feels slightly indecent and erotic, as if everyone could see the pleasure he has given her in the bath-house. And when he goes to sleep in the soft bed of their small bedroom, his head on her breast, as if listening to the sound of her heart beats, she finally closes her eyes and finds the rest that had been eluding her for almost a week.  
  
* - *  
  
    They spend several days roaming Njord's library in search of a book, a scroll, anything that would hold the key to reverse Loki's punishment. The library is so immense that Loki despairs from finding an answer, something useful. But he refuses to let go, reading everything he can as fast as possible. Esja tries to help him but she feels odd in the middle of all those books. The library is indeed a strange place, its walls so tall that she stands in awe of all the knowledge it contains. The smell of old scrolls is so powerful that it makes her uncomfortable.

    Yet, for all its knowledge, the library doesn't seem to contain what they are looking for. Each day, Loki is growing surlier. However bad his mood seems to be, he skims through every book, every scroll relentlessly. Until he finally understands that he won't find what he is looking for in Noatun. There is only one solution, and it is not one that Esja likes at all. But there is no way they can avoid it now. They have to go and seek Nerthus, Njord's wife, high priestess and earth mother of Vanaheim. Esja fears her as well as she reveres her. The price they will have to pay will be high. She dreads it but can't think of any other solution. 

    So they leave Noatun, leaving Sandar's boat in the harbour, for Nerthus's island stands in the middle of Vanaheim, an island within an island. Esja has traded the boat for two sturdy horses, wondering how she would ever repay Sandar. That is, if she sees him again. Doubt and anguish seize her heart as they set out. But there is nothing she wouldn't do for her Loki.


End file.
